


Get Knotted

by Gcgraywriter



Series: Paneville [24]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alpha/Omega, Animalistic, Auror Ron Weasley, Best Friends, Black Hermione Granger, Canonical Character Death, Complicated Relationships, Draco Malfoy & Pansy Parkinson Friendship, F/M, Good Draco Malfoy, Good Pansy Parkinson, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Healer Pansy Parkinson, Implied/Referenced Abortion, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Knockturn Alley, Ministry of Magic (Harry Potter), Ministry of Magic Employee Hermione Granger, Minor Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Minor Pansy Parkinson/Ron Weasley, POV Pansy Parkinson, Past Relationship(s), Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Post-War, Seamus Finnigan Curse Breaker, Self-Hatred, Social Worker Harry Potter, The Golden Trio Era (Harry Potter), Unplanned Pregnancy, Werewolf Biology, Werewolf Culture, Werewolf Mates, Werewolf Neville, Werewolves, Wizarding Culture (Harry Potter), Wizarding Politics (Harry Potter), Wolf Instincts, Wolfsbane Poisoning, Wolfsbane Potion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:42:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 26
Words: 40,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26044411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gcgraywriter/pseuds/Gcgraywriter
Summary: This was not where Pansy expected to be on her night off, even if someone had told her to list one hundred places. Merlin! She didn’t even think it would appear on her list of one thousand, and certainly not for the reason she had been summoned. Never in a million years.Spotify playlist - https://open.spotify.com/user/31wdzljxdv5ttf3r4xrwwyvihecq/playlist/2BenIPGUzA6RAWdfjX2ToL?si=iQ5UqFR7SlO9XKiHOCXfJw
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Lavender Brown/Ron Weasley, Neville Longbottom/Pansy Parkinson, Pansy Parkinson/Ron Weasley
Series: Paneville [24]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1721938
Comments: 230
Kudos: 141





	1. Healer Pansy Proctor

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mariana_Monteverde](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mariana_Monteverde/gifts), [TheUltimateUndesirable](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheUltimateUndesirable/gifts), [Murder_Kitten](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Murder_Kitten/gifts), [RubyLipsStarryEyes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RubyLipsStarryEyes/gifts).



> I curse my dear dear Panevillains for this fic as they "blessed" me with the Plotipus and then proceeded to bully me into planning it, then once planned I couldn't say no... (You know who you are!!!)
> 
> If you love Pansy/Neville, join us in the Paneville Support Group on Facebook. Also, keep your eyes open for the Panevi11e drabblefest coming November 2020.
> 
> ***TRIGGER WARNING***  
> I'm a 'Pantser' and I write as I go with a general direction in mind, which can mean that at the start of a fic, not all of the relevant tags have been included. Please check the tags on every update as I would hate to trigger you, changing or adding something later you were not told about via the tags. 
> 
> I try to add all the relevant tags every chapter posting. Sorry if this causes any issues. - I can promise it will be a happy-ever-after fic with no character death etc, so please stick with me :) Hopefully you'll enjoy this as much as I have done.

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/187009200@N02/50353384323/in/dateposted-public/)

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/187009200@N02/50360078338/in/dateposted-public/)

This was not where Pansy expected to be on her night off, even if someone had told her to list one hundred places. Merlin! She didn’t even think it would appear on her list of one thousand, and certainly not for the reason she had been summoned. Never in a million years. 

The fire call had roused her from her doze on the sofa after a long day at St Mungo’s. A disembodied voice calling her from her confusion. 

“Healer Proctor? We’ve got an emergency, Healer Sloane asked for you to accompany him.”

It took her a moment to remember that Healer Procter was her. Since the war and her parent’s disgrace, she had changed her name so that she could attempt to carve a name for herself in society with fewer curses and a lot less hate mail. She mostly did it so that her patients might trust her. Most people didn’t know what Pansy Parkinson looked like, but they certainly knew the name. So, along with her reputation and money, her name disappeared from history too. 

“Healer Proctor?” The voice called again. 

“Yes! Yes,” She replied tiredly, rubbing at her eyes. “What’s the address?

Longbottom House. She swallowed nervously as she gazed at the small, grey watermill, waiting for someone to come to the door. She wondered whether Neville still lived here, she sincerely hoped not. One of the benefits of working for Messrs Ichabod and Chorley, was virtual anonymity as they only dealt with the old pureblood houses and those with money. 

She pondered this as she stood on the threshold of the Longbottom residence, Yeah they were an old pureblood family but as far as she was aware they had never been a particularly rich one. Certainly not rich enough to afford the sort of fees that Ichabod and Chorley demanded. 

The clear night air smelt of honeysuckle as the vine overtook a near bush. The garden didn’t look as neat as she would have expected, what with Longbottom being such a plant enthusiast. Come to think of it the garden looked almost unkempt. Mint seemed to be overtaking the nearest flowerbed, and there were gaps in the row of roses where dead stalks poked up out of the ground. Maybe Longbottom didn’t live here anymore…

The door opened with a creak as the formidable Mrs Longbottom stood in the doorway. The disapproving scowl that she always used to wear on platform 9 ¾ absent from her heavily lined face. How many years had it been now since she had graduated from school? It felt like a decade, but it was probably closer to two or three years in the rush of all-nighters, cramming sessions, exams and mountains of magi-medical scrolls. She had kept herself busy, trying to pay back to the world after the mess that should have been her final year at school. 

“Please, come in!” Augusta Longbottom urged, almost wrenching her arm from her socket as she pulled her through the door. Pansy felt the dread settle in her stomach as she took a steadying breath. If Augusta was letting her in, that must mean that she was here to see Neville. 

She swore profusely under her breath as she nodded and stepped into the hallway. The house was lovely but slightly threadbare, as though everything was old and well worn, there were obvious gaps too, like marks in the carpet where furniture had been but now wasn’t. She didn’t dwell on it too long as she waited for the Longbottom Matriarch to guide her through to the patient. 

“Please, they’re in the kitchen.” She urged as she shut the door behind them. Pansy travelled the length of the corridor and through the far doorway leading into the warm kitchen. Her eyes found nothing but a battered old table, a well-used stove and countertops. There were several doors off the kitchen—a Dutch rear door that could swing in half as well as two others. One was made of wooden panelling, whereas the other was heavier and newer. She wondered whether they were through there. Unable to see any sign of Sloane or Neville. She knocked on the dark wood with her knuckles and blinked as the door swung open. 

Sloane was hunched over on the floor looking at a body. He was older than her but not as ancient as the healers who owned the practice. At a guess, she would put him in his late fifties, with dark black hair that was starting to go grey at the ears. Out of all the healers at the practice, he was by far the best to work with. 

Pansy froze, even if she hadn’t been in his house, she would’ve recognised the legs and the ugly argyle jumper anywhere. Her heart thumped loudly as she leant against the door frame. 

“Proctor? I need you. It appears to be Aconite poisoning.” He said as the legs quivered and trembled. 

“Aconite? What’s Neville doing with Aconite?” Pansy heard herself ask as her training kicked in. She knelt on the floor, suddenly, her hands on his legs. Feeling the skeletal legs beneath the material caused her to flinch. His whole appearance was one of hair, dirt and neglect as his clothes hung off him. She felt a sudden sharp dislike towards Augusta Longbottom, for letting Neville turn out like this. The poor man had lost every pound of baby fat along with pounds that weren’t his to give. He looked terrible. Sloane looked at her, his dark eye questioning her. 

“Appears he was trying to brew his own wolfsbane potion and got the dosage wrong,” Sloane replied with a shake of his head. Right, questions could be asked later, once the danger was over. “We may be too late,” He said quietly. 

“We’ve got to try, What’s his heart doing?” Pansy asked, her heart racing at the thought of him not being in the world. 

“It’s all over the place and getting weaker. I’m not sure there’s anything we can do.”

“Please, help my Grandson.” Augusta pleaded as tears came to her eyes. 

“Mrs Longbottom? Does Neville have any Marigold or Liverwort here?” She asked without looking up. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her medical bag and expanded it before rummaging for what she was after. 

“I think so,” She said uncertainly. 

“I need you to find it for me as well as a cup of water,” She pulled out her pestle and mortar as well as a small vial of black powder. 

“His heartbeat is fading, whatever you need to do, you need to do it fast, I can’t hold him for much longer.”

Pansy launched to her feet, racing into the kitchen. Raising her wand, she summoned a mug from one of the cupboards and returned to the small room, casting the aguamenti charm before she was back on her knees. Adding the black powder, she looked at the other healer. 

“Hold him up, we need to get the poison out.”

“But he might breathe it in and choke,”

“He’s dead if we don’t,” Sloane nodded and moved Neville into a sitting position, and it took every ounce of training she had to not gasp at how awful he looked. She pushed the mug to his lips and started to pour as she massaged the coarse hair at his throat, the start of a beard sandy beard catching her fingers. He began to swallow the charcoal as Augusta returned, herbs in hand. 

“They need to be ground into a paste,” She ordered with less than a glance at the older woman. 

“I’ve lost his heartbeat,” Sloane said as he tapped his wand against Neville’s chest again. 

“No,” She said certainly. She let him go as Sloane lowered him to the ground. Pulling her wand out, she tapped it to his chest. “Pulsatio,” She muttered, feeling a surge of energy rush through her, through her wand and into his heart. 

“Nothing,” Sloane said 

“Pulsatio Maxima,” Pansy muttered, feeling the surge again. 

“Nothing,”

“She took a deep breath and put all her might behind the charm. “Pulsatio Maxima,” She forced the surge through her fingers, imagined it coiling around his heart and squeezing it into life. If anyone should be given a second chance, it should be him. 

“Nothing,” Sloane muttered again, and Pansy slumped sadly. 

“No, I’m not done,” She said with a grit of her teeth. She repeated the spell again and again. 

“Nothin-wait… There, it’s faint but its there.” Sloane shook his head in amazement before Neville started to convulse again. “Quickly, Roll him!” He ordered. 

They did so just in time as Neville started to be sick, the remains of the failed Wolfsbane potion covering the tiled floor along with the charcoal. 

“Well, that’s a good start,” Pansy said with a sigh before sitting back on her heels, relieved that she hadn’t changed out of her scrubs yet.


	2. After the Battle

“How is my boy? Is he alright?” Augusta asked as they emerged from the room. She held the back of the chair in a death grip, her loose, crinkled skin around her knuckles turning white.

“It was close, but he should hopefully make a full recovery. Healer Proctor refused to give up on him,” Sloane offered with a smile. “Here is a list of herbs and potions you should be able to collect from your nearest apothecary,”

“Thank you,” she said quietly, her voice and façade breaking as her control started to weaken. Pansy looked away, unable to bear the real and visceral emotion in her face. She looked back to the room where Neville lay sleeping. Something didn’t sit right with her. How had such a fit and health boy turned into that? Her anger towards Augusta Longbottom evaporated as she sobbed quietly into a handkerchief. She needed to know more.

“I would like to stay and monitor him. If I may?” Pansy interjected politely. Sloane frowned but shrugged and nodded.

“If Mrs Longbottom doesn’t object. It’s probably not a bad idea. You will need to take certain precautions; however,” he warned.

She nodded in understanding. It was only a day before the full moon, and the transformation could be dangerous for everyone involved, that’s if they were dealing with a werewolf after all. There seemed little doubt, but she wanted to make sure.

“Absolutely, of course! Please, you can stay in Neville’s room.” She nodded, a sad, faraway look in her eyes. “Thank you,”

Pansy frowned, she had so many questions that her head swam. But where to start? Aconite poisoning? She had a sinking feeling that she knew the answer but would keep it to herself for now. 

“I had better get going,” Sloane announced finally before nodding towards Mrs Longbottom and leaving the room. Pansy followed silently behind her mind still on Neville. When they were alone, the other healer turned to her, leaning in just in case they were overheard.

“You’re not getting emotionally attached to this one, are you?” He raised a dark eyebrow in a question, and she knew she was being studied. She smiled cooly

“It’s someone I knew from school, I just need to know more about what happened. He… he completely disappeared,”

“I know what he did at the Battle. So does the whole wizarding community and he’ll always be remembered for it. However, if he is a werewolf now, we may need to report it. Check out their full-moon security. If it’s adequate we can leave them in peace, Merlin knows this family deserve it!   
The older man paused and pinched the bridge of his nose, his dark eyes looking tired as he looked back at her. “If not, he may need to be sectioned,” he said sadly. 

Pansy shuddered. To be sectioned was to be locked away in a cell until the authorities deemed you safe and fit for reintegration into society. Werewolves could never be cured, so any that were sectioned never came out again.

She would make sure that his security was safe enough. She had never offered him any kindness before the war, this could be her way of saying thank you. Over the years she’s had time to appreciate that even though she had lost everything, she had gained so much more, and it was because of him and the others. 

“You did well in there, you took control beautifully I think you’ll be ready to take your final exams soon, just needs a couple more cases under your belt and your final dissertation to work on and the Ministry will be able to sign you off.” He smiled, placing his hand on her shoulder. “Nice job, you should be proud! Be careful tonight,” She nodded, fighting the blush threatening to cross her face. He nodded, gave her shoulder a final squeeze and left, snapping out of view as he apparated away. 

Pansy stood staring out into the garden for a moment as thoughts rushed through her mind. Never in a million years had she seen herself here, but here she was, and here she was needed. She wasn’t sure whether she felt proud, as she tugged at the long sleeves of her scrubs before crossing her arms. Yes, he was alive, but what kind of life could he live? She shook her head at the waste of it all. 

She turned around, closing the door behind her. She jumped as she found Augusta stood further down the corridor. She held her chest with her hand as she tried to slow the rapid beat. His Grandmother stood holding her collar tightly as she studied Pansy with worried eyes.

”You won't take him away from me, will you? I can't lose him too!”

”If I feel he will be a danger to the surrounding community, I will have to report him. However, my only intention is to make sure he returns to full health and to offer any support I can,” she said calmly, feeling the bile rise up at the thought of this woman's pain. “I don’t want to report him,” she added. The whole of the wizarding community knew what happened to Frank and Alice Longbottom snatched away but left behind. For her to lose a grandson in such a way too... It was too cruel and unfair to contemplate.

Augusta nodded, content with her answer before turning to go back to the kitchen.

”Would you like a brew?” she asked quietly.

”Black coffee if you have it, please?” Pansy replied. She had a feeling she would need it in the hours to come. Pansy followed her into the kitchen and sat down where she was told to and waited. Now was the time to ask her questions. She just hoped she wouldn’t add to this woman's already palpable pain. 

”Mrs Longbottom, may I ask you some questions?”

”Please, call me Gussie,” she replied filling the kettle with water and placing it on the stove.

”Very well. Call me, Pansy.”

“So, Pansy. You want to know what happened to my Neville?”

“Amongst other things, yes, I do,”

“He refuses to talk about it, but what I do know is this. He was bitten right after the Battle at the school ended. Madam Pomfrey fixed him up as best she could, and he was brought home. We knew nothing of his curse until two weeks later...” her voice dropped off. Horror flashed across her face as she stared off into the past, reliving her nightmares. 

So, that’s what happened and why Longbottom had virtually disappeared from the face of the earth. The other’s were almost always in the limelight, for one thing, or another. Potter doing his work for the war orphans. Granger was on her own rampage through the ministry trying to implement reforms, Shacklebolt giving her virtual Carte Blanche. And Weasley… She pushed the thought from her head. 

“What happened with his potion this time? I assume he's been taking it ever since the attack?” Augusta nodded,

“I’m not proud to say, but the potion‘s price has been difficult to accommodate lately. So, Neville was trying to grow most of the ingredients himself,” That explained the missing furniture and the lack of the usual knickknacks around the place. She wondered what family heirlooms this poor woman had parted with to ensure that the future of her house could survive. She cleared her throat at the thought, feeling a sudden sob trying to escape. 

“Please, tell me he didn’t try to brew the potion himself?” She said, horror filling her voice as her brain latched onto the matriarchs meaning. Countless memories of sharing potions class with him passed across her mind’s eye, and she shuddered. Someone who wasn’t able to make a boil remover was certainly not equipped to brew the Wolfsbane potion. The squeal of the kettle brought her back,

Augusta nodded, before turning to the stove, within moments, a steaming cup of black coffee sat in a large mug before her. She cupped it thankfully. Coffee had gotten her through many all-nighters, and hopefully, its warmth would stave off the chill that this whole case gave her.

“I have a sensitive question for you, and I am sorry for asking,”

“You want to know if he did it on purpose, don't you?” Augusta lowered herself down into the chair, appearing so much older than she probably was. This much sadness took its toll even on the strongest. She tugged at the sleeves of her scrubs self-consciously, wanting to hide the evidence of her own past moments of despair. She nodded as she waited for an answer.

Finally, Augusta let out a breath and rubbed at her forehead with her hand. “I keep asking myself that, over and over again. Before the attack, I wouldn’t have thought it possible. He had such a love of life, and he was such a gentle soul. Since the attack…” She paused a took a fortifying sip of her tea. “I would like to say no, that he wouldn't dream of it, but the last year has been hard. The Wolfsbane that we were getting seemed weaker, or watered down and didn't work the way it had done. We had a few close calls-which we’ve learned from and rectified!” She said quickly, her eyes wide with worry. “I don’t think he's ever forgiven himself for it. He refuses to eat, and he spends most of his life locked in that room.” She swallowed, her lips trembling as she rubbed at her eyes again. Pansy felt tears prick at her own. She rallied, taking a deep shuddering breath before continuing. “I’m aware his potion skills are abysmal, but he was desperate not to be any more of a burden on us and assured me he had followed the recipe to the letter. But If he intended to poison himself? I… I just can’t say for sure. He’s not the same boy he used to be…”

Pansy nodded, the information about his potion was interesting. She pushed the thought of his possible attempt to one side.

“Thank you for being honest with me, I know it’s a difficult question to answer. I promise you, the last thing I want to do is report him. I will help you where I can to make sure that doesn’t happen.” She felt the passion and drive which had gotten her through most of her school life boil up inside of her, determined to make sure that this ended up with a happy outcome. “Where had you been sourcing his Wolfsbane from?”

“Shyverswretch’s f Knockturn Alley. We heard from… someone that they could supply with no questions asked.” She blushed. Obviously, Gussie Longbottom wasn’t used to back-alley dealings. 

She was familiar with the name. They were known for their Venoms and Poisons but could be persuaded to make certain concoctions for an exorbitant price, ensuring confidentiality but not necessarily the quality. She would have to look into it. If the market was being flooded with watered-down Wolfbane, the number of attacks could rise. Her mind darted to the red-haired auror, and she shook her head. It could wait a little while longer before she spoke to him again…


	3. Best Of Them All

They talked some more before the grandfather clock in the living room chimed the hour. Pansy stood and stretched, a yawn breaking through. 

“You look shattered, you should get some sleep,” Augusta said as she too rose from the table. “Neville’s room is already made up whenever you’re ready. He doesn’t really use it much any more,”  
Pansy nodded, her eyes flitting back to the room where Neville lay. 

“What about his friends, Do they know about him?” 

“Absolutely not! He refuses to respond to the letters, doesn’t even read them most of the time. It makes him angry. He hasn’t seen anyone except me and his uncle and aunt in so long. After a while, the letters stopped coming.”

“And no one tried visiting? They always seemed so close at school.” Pansy asked, genuinely curious. She found it hard to believe that any of his friends would hate him for being a werewolf, especially when Professor Lupin had been one. It hadn’t been confirmed whether his son was one, but there was plenty of speculation in the press about it. She shook her head. No, his friends would stand by him if they knew.

“They were, they were good for him. But, I don’t think he wants to be a danger to anyone, most of them have got important jobs or families to consider, and I don’t think he wants to put them at risk.   
Pansy nodded, she knew from first-hand experience, what a bad reputation could do to the people around you. 

“I need to get some sleep, Do you need anything before I go?” The old lady asked.   
Pansy shook her head. “I’m fine. You’ve shown me where the coffee is already. I’ll be alright.”

“Very well, Good night. Please wake me if anything is wrong,”

“Of course. Get some rest, I’ve got it handled.” 

The old woman nodded tiredly pressing her hand to Pansy’s shoulder and squeezing as she passed. Pansy let her. She had never been particularly fond of touching or random displays of affection. Still, she knew that this was something Augusta needed, and she was more than happy that she hadn’t offered to hug her. 

Suddenly she was alone. Pausing for a moment, she listened to the loud tick of the grandfather clock in the silence of the house. Rubbing at her arms as the sudden emptiness made her feel anxious, she moved to make another cup of coffee. The kettle was still warm, so she poured herself a cup of the dark liquid and knocked it back, hoping the rush of caffeine would reinvigorate her. She took a deep breath before moving towards the door to peek in. Neville still lay on the floor in his ruined clothes and sick around his mouth. She shook her head before pulling her wand out. Pointing it at the mug which had held the charcoal, she transfigured something similar to a camp bed. Again, using her wand, she lifted his lifeless body into the air and moved the cot beneath him before lowering him back onto it. 

She cast the Incarcerous charm tying him to the bed while she got close enough to clean his face free of the dirt and grime. Her mind wandered as she stared, hoping not to wake him. Asleep, he looked so much younger, even with the straggly beard and the drastic weight loss. It hurt her to see him this way. 

She remembered him at school in that final term before the war. Harry Potter was on the run, and their outlook was bleak, even the Pureblooded Slytherin’s knew that this world wasn’t the good world their parents had tried to sell them. Danger lurked in an unwise word or an unguarded look. 

He had been their saviour, protecting the younger years from the worst of it, disappearing and reappearing like a ghost from around the castle. His broad shoulders bolstering their hopes as the Carrows tortured them in the name of education.   
With a single Expelliarmus, he had saved her from another Cruciatus session with Alecto. She wasn’t sure that she had ever thanked him. 

In the years since she had seen the damage that the war had caused; So many bruised and battered bodies that she had tried to put back together again. She shook her head in disappointment. He was the best of them all, standing when the rest of them couldn’t or were too afraid too. He deserved so much more. 

She stood up and banished the ropes that bound him, unable to see him tied up like a prisoner. He slept soundly as she left the room. 

Stepping back into the kitchen, she was suddenly submerged back into the deafening silence and immediately looked around for something else to occupy her thoughts. Considering the time, she wondered whether she could brew the potion up herself but decided against it. Even though her skill was far superior to Neville’s in potion brewing, even she wouldn’t have attempted it. There was only one person that she would trust to make it. She would owl Draco tomorrow and organise something with him if she could work out a way to do so without letting Neville’s secret slip. The hospital had a stash, and she considered stealing some but knew that she’d be caught. The clock struck two am, and she groaned inwardly. 

Hearing a noise from the other room, she rushed back in. Neville lay, fighting for breath, clawing at the clothes on his chest. She waved her wand over him, taking his vitals. His heartbeat was erratic again. Swearing breathlessly, she ran out into the kitchen, grabbed the Marigold and Liverwort powder in the mortar and rushed back in. Stirring the powder with her wand as she added the water. 

She threw herself down hard, cursing the pain in her knees as she reached for his head. Supporting him at the neck as she lifted him up so that he could take the liquid. Pouring the runny paste down his throat, she managed to make him swallow. Listening to his chest, she monitored his pulse, letting out a sigh as it slowed and evened out. She bowed her head in a silent prayer over him in relief when his heartbeat returned to an acceptable range. 

She panted into the silence of the room. All this magic was draining her already low reserves, and she felt so tired all of a sudden. 

Pansy froze. 

Something was different. The room was too quiet, and the air too thick all of a sudden. She stayed perfectly still, the feeling of dread building slowly in her stomach as she minutely moved her head to take in his face. His chin came into her line of sight, her peripheral vision spotting the problem straight away. His eyes were open, he was awake, and he was watching her. 

She stayed very still as she weighed up what to do. If it was the werewolf, then any sudden moves could trigger his hunting response, and any direct eye contact could be seen as a challenge. She knew from personal experience that either option was not a good one. Her best bet was to lower her head and slink away, belly to the floor in a show of submission. 

She waited another moment for Neville to speak. When he didn’t, she lowered her head and slowly crawled back towards the door. A hand shot out and grabbed her wrist, forcing her closer to him again. She tried not to whimper as fear curled around her insides. He pulled her wrist to his nose where he sniffed her. Now that she was close again, he reeled her in until his fingers threaded into her hair. They were surprisingly gentle as she waited for his teeth to sink into her flesh. But they never came. Instead, he buried his face in her neck and breathed her in. Sniffing at the base of her throat, she moaned and shivered involuntarily as his nose rubbed against the sensitive flesh. The sound seemed to trigger something in him as a low rumbling growl emitted deep within his chest. She braced herself again, her promising career flashing before her eyes. 

She felt his hot breath against her skin, but this time it was followed by the flat of his tongue licking at her skin. She stilled in his grasp before he released her. Edging away carefully, she attempted to retreat, but weakly he crawled out of his cot after her, keening and whimpering as he followed. 

Pansy stopped with her back pressed against the wall, she couldn’t bear to watch him follow her, his weak limbs trembling under his meagre weight. Reaching her, he whimpered softly as he headbutted her shoulder softly, rubbing his face against the material at her arm. This had never happened to her before, but staying still sounded like the best idea. 

He pressed his head into her shoulder again before sliding down to rest his head in her lap. He whimpered again, and she could almost feel his pain. She gently raised her hand, aware that the wrong move could cost her everything. Screaming at herself, she watched her hand lower onto his head, beginning to stroke her fingers through the soft sandy hair. He whimpered again before curling the rest of his body tightly around her and falling to sleep. 

Looking down at his peaceful face, she felt like the known dangers were a distant and abstract risk. How could he, with his gentle nature and kind heart, hurt her. This was not the fierce and dangerous animal she had come to understand. 

After a while, she attempted to extricate herself from his grasp, but he held on, refusing to release her. She sighed as she looked around for anything to help her out of this situation, but nothing came to mind. She shrugged away the danger as she leant her back against the wall for a well-earned rest. At least if anything were to go wrong, she would be on hand to deal with the crisis. 

She continued to stroke his hair as her eyes grew heavy, and for the first time in what felt like forever, the weight on her heart lessened. She listened to his breathing interspersed with the occasional whimper as he kicked his leg out. With a final heavy breath, she was asleep.


	4. She'll ruin us

Shrouded in an unbelievable warmth, she slowly eased awake, the bright morning sunshine filling the small room as it bounced off the limewashed walls. Blinking against the light as a pale shaft hit the wall above her, she hummed sleepily into the warmth as she took a long blink, feeling tempted not to wake yet. She could feel in her bones and the quality of the light that it was early. The shaft of sunlight hit high on the wall where only a new dawn sun could reach. 

Long scratches marred the white paint exposing the pink plaster underneath like angry welts. Feeling a sudden thud of recognition, the memory of the previous night’s event returned in startling clarity. The warmth that surrounded her fidgeted as she became aware of the face pressed to her neck and the arm thrown over in a protective and possessive gesture.

She closed her eyes and cursed silently. What was she going to do? She couldn’t escape without waking him, and she couldn’t reach her wand, which lay discarded by his bed the other side of the room. She was stuck. And then there was the problem of what happened when he finally did wake up. Would it be Neville or the wolf? 

As she lay there, with this strangely familiar man nuzzling into her neck, she wasn't sure which she’d prefer. He pressed himself closer to her, holding her tightly like a security blanket. He started to lick at her neck again, and she swore. Gritting her teeth against the sensations which were causing her to squirm as the sensation bordered on tickling. She chuckled despite herself at his ministrations before she could stop. 

The motion stopped mid-lick, and she held her breath, waiting for the next few moments to unfold. The wet patch of skin on her neck grew cold in the morning air as his face rubbed against it one final time before rising to look around. Sleepy confusion filled his face giving her a moment to take him in. His hazel eyes looked startling against the dark smudges beneath. His cheeks, hollow and sunken in, made his handsome face into something animalistic and feral. Cheekbones jutting out in sharp angles adding to the strange shadows and old bruises. He looked so far removed from the hero of Hogwarts and even more so from the chubby little Gryffindor she had picked on in first year, 

He licked his dry, cracked lips as he turned his eyes to her. She held her breath as a sudden thrill rushed up her spine. 

His eyes travelled up her body first, and with every inch, he became more confused. She remained as still as stone afraid to move. His nostrils flared at the sudden rush of fear in the air as their eyes met. He blinked for a second, as an anguished look overtook his features. Tears started to pool in his eyes as a fierce tremble assailed him. He began to keen and cry as he reached down to her, touching and checking her for blood. His teary gaze met her eyes and filled with horror as she slowly started to sit up. 

He growled, but not as the wolf but as the man. A rumbling grunt of revulsion and shame at what he may have done. He shouted as he scrabbled away, scuttling back to the farthest corner of the room. Wedging himself in as he tried to ward her off with an outstretched hand. 

“Please, I’m not safe. Get out!”

Pansy sat up fully and watched him carefully. This was not the normal reaction men gave her the morning after. She almost said as much but stopped, seeing the fear wide in his earthy eyes. Now was not the time. 

“Neville? Can I call you Neville?” She asked, holding her own hands out in surrender. 

“Pansy? What are you- Fuck!“ He swore, and she paused, thrown by the language. “Why did it have to be you?” He collapsed in on himself. Shaking from head to toe as the tears started. 

“Neville, It’s ok,” She said, moving to her knees, her hips complaining at the movement. She went to move closer, but he shouted again. 

“Stay away from me! Don’t talk to me!”

“Then how else would you like me to communicate, because I am your healer, and I’m not going anywhere,”

“Healer?” The word seemed to confuse him as he looked up at her. 

She nodded. “You had a bad reaction to your Wolfsbane,” She offered, trying to calm him down. But at the mention of the Aconite, he paled and fell silent, the trembling increasing again. “Last night, your grandmother had to call us because you   
were dying. You poisoned yourself with an incorrect dosage of Aconite.”

“Well, I’m better, now get out!” Even though he spat the words, his weak trembling only made him look pitiful. 

“Neville. You had a serious reaction that affected your heart, you need to calm down,”

“Don’t call me that. I’m not him anymore.” He muttered, “Just go away.” 

“Neville…” She started stepping closer, but he pushed himself further into the corner, warding her off. 

“Get out, just get out. OUT!” he screamed. She stopped and swallowed, her adrenaline spiking at the outburst. His nostrils flared again as he started to loosen up, unconsciously moving towards her. 

She backed up, feeling the fear spike. Within a second, he was on her, pressing her against the wall, his face buried in her hair, breathing in her scent. 

“Neville,” she whispered, her heartbeat deafening as his scent of autumn leaves and mist pressed harder against her. 

“Shush,” He whispered, and she could feel the fine tremble in his body, vibrating through them both. “Please stop, Fear makes you smell even better,”

She nodded minutely feeling his hands in her hair, bunching it around his face. 

“I’m sorry,” She whispered back, 

“So am I,” He growled as his head reared back as though about to strike. Pansy closed her eyes as she waited for the blow, but he was gone, leaving her panting and breathless against the wall. He howled into his lap as he tore at his hair. “Get out,” He begged, and she nodded, slowly leaning forward to grab her wand before backing out of the room, so that she didn’t trigger the need to hunt again. 

Once out, she shut the door and locked it behind her and took a deep breath. As soon as the door clicked shut a heartwrenching howl and sob erupted from behind the door as the wolf and man battled over the flesh. 

Augusta was sat at the table sipping on a mug of tea, and Pansy smiled broadly at the steaming cup of coffee that sat on the table opposite. She walked towards it her nerves feeling overwhelmingly rattled 

“Thank you,” 

“No, Thank you. I don’t know what happened last night, but the peaceful look on his face this morning was worth it.”

Pansy sank down into the chair and rubbed her face, pointedly avoiding the blush that threatened to fill her cheeks. 

“I’m afraid he’s looking a touch less peaceful now…” She commented dryly before rolling her neck to relieve some of the tension. “He crashed again, but I managed to stabilise him. He caught me off guard and woke up all wolfish. He pinned me down. I would have summoned you, but he didn’t mean any harm, and I was able to monitor him.” 

Augusta sighed and nodded before flipping over the paper. Her skin looked papery thin and pale as she sipped her tea, but she seemed to have regained some of her composure now that her grandson was in the clear.   
A noise drew her attention to the door as heavy breathing seemed to escape from the crack underneath it. 

“What is she doing here?” he growled as he scratched at the door. 

“She’s a healer,” Augusta replied. 

“She can’t be a healer!” the door rattled again. 

“She saved your life, last night,” Pansy glanced at Augusta and noticed how much paler her cheeks had gotten. 

“I want her… out. I need her… GONE. I can smell her everywhere!” He cursed with frustration before attacking the other side of the door again, Pansy hoped that there were some powerful charms on the door itself, 

“She’ll go when I’m satisfied that you aren’t going to try and kill yourself again.”

And there it was, out in the open. Pansy swallowed, and it seemed deafening in the sudden quiet. He paused just a moment too long before speaking again. 

“You should have let me die,” He whimpered from the other side of the door before going silent. 

Augusta’s voice hitched, and Pansy pretended not to notice the tears and sniffs as she looked fixedly into her mug. 

“She’ll ruin us, Gran!” Neville muttered again before he started to rage behind the door. 

Pansy felt her heart beat faster as she listened to the tempest beyond the kitchen. The old Neville had never been that fiery or passionate. She wondered how much of his behaviour was down to the impending moon and how much of it was normal for him now. 

Augusta put down her teacup with a trembling hand. 

“There,” She whispered quietly, “Now we know,”

Pansy paused a moment before asking but then plunged in “Mrs Longbottom,”

“Gussie,” The older woman corrected. 

“Gussie, I wanted to speak to my friend about his Wolfsbane, If I may? He’s the only one I would trust to brew it if I suffered from Lycanthropy. Neville’s secret is safe with me, I promise.”

“At this point, do as you must. The last thing I want is for my boy to be locked up, but we can’t carry on like this, It’s not right.” Augusta swallowed again before pretending to remove something from her eye before replacing her glasses. Pansy nodded, turning back to the whimpering in the room beyond.


	5. I'm Not Here

Collapsing face-first onto the lumpy, threadbare sofa, Pansy groaned. Everything ached, but mostly her head. It buzzed like a wasp’s nest and stung like a queen with each painful memory.

Neville was not the first person she’d tried to help with Lycanthropy and helping Snape with the Wolfsbane for Lupin didn't count either. She buried the memories so deep they were almost difficult to recall now, but the emotions she’d felt lingered.

Her families own great secret had been just as scandalous but in certain ways far less tragic. Her Grande dame-her father's mother had been attacked when Pansy was a child. Attacked and turned into the same beast that stole away her gentle personality once a month, leaving behind a creature made of anger and instinct.

She rolled over with a humph, staring at the ceiling. She remembered blazing arguments and hushed conversations as the rest of the family decided what would be best.

When Pansy was ten, her Grande dame was sectioned, under a pseudonym of course, after her mental faculties started to fail and she attacked someone. It had been a huge hush up, telling people that she had passed away while relaxing on the continent.

She had been able to visit her Grande dame once and refused to go back again. The nightmares even now woke her in a cold sweat with images of chains and curses and soulless, animal eyes. She regretted never having gone back to see her, but she valued her sanity too. She would face an army of dementors single-handedly before she would let that happen to the accident-prone Gryffindor.

She turned to the window, the Birmingham skyline shimmering in the early September sun. The summer had been long and warm, but like most British summers the rain had made itself known. If she hadn’t cast a silencing charm, she knew she would be able to hear the ever-constant chatter of muggles and groans of traffic as the busses creaked and growled past on the streets below.

She had viewed several flats after her parents had fled Britain, determined not to be chased away by a stupid mistake. The amount of choice had surprised her when her meagre Ministry allowance savings had barely been enough to cover food. However, after viewing them, the choice was clear. The two in Knockturn alley had been hideous, she was sure that someone had died in at least one of them. Despite the grime, the rent had been almost double because of it being in London. However, the floo network meant that London flats weren’t the only option available to her.

She watched the play of light on the window frame from a reflection down below, her thoughts turning to Neville. His sudden changing moods had startled her, but only because they were so unexpected. He seemed so much larger and stronger than her even in his diminished state. She closed her eyes, remembering the feeling of him pressing her against the wall and nuzzling her neck. It had been so long since she had let any man get so close... 

She sat up in agitation, unwilling to let that thought linger. She was desperate for a shower, and she had things to do before she returned to the Longbottoms. She had promised Augusta she would return just in case Neville needed her medical care. So much for the fun-filled-weekend, she had planned. Pansy snorted, staying in, drinking coffee and studying was almost all she ever did now, spending time with the Longbottoms almost constituted a party as she was leaving the house. She could study there while she kept an eye on things, she had her doubts that his heart could manage the transformation, but they would see.

Pulling off her scrubs, she padded into the bathroom where she shed her underwear and stepped into the bath. She didn't have many luxuries any more, the Ministry saw to that. There was just enough for the rent and a small budget for food, and luckily there were grants towards educational equipment like her healing books. The one thing she insisted on was her toiletries. When the world was rotten, dirty and dark. It was possible to come home and wash the dirt off and feel pretty again.

She would need all the self-confidence to make the day go her way. She needed to see Draco, which meant trudging through Knockturn alley, and she also needed to stop by the Ministry. That was the part she was dreading the most.

After the way they had left things, she wasn’t sure she would be welcomed by Weasley, but she hoped that if she presented well, he might be enticed Into letting her into his office. She felt the growing knot of anxiety at the thought of seeing him again. Taking a deep breath, she reminded herself why she needed to do it. She guessed she could always go and see one of the other Aurors, but her past meant that she wouldn't be given the time of day. The Aurors were never as impartial as they pretended to be.

She rubbed the soap into her skin, feeling the scars on her arms and wishing the unsightly lines away. She tried not to dwell on them as the suds hid them from view. It occurred to her that she could get them healed, but it would have to wait until she could afford it, or learned how to do it herself. The sight of them made her remember feeling weak and powerless, and she refused to feel like that again. 

Holding her head under the water, she massaged her neck, stroking the patch of skin where Neville had licked her. She let the jets of hot water hit her skin and shivered at the sensation, remembering his scent. She wondered why his wolf reacted to her in such a way. Werewolves were supposed to be vicious to all and sundry, her Grande dame certainly had been. She smoothed the shampoo into her hair and massaged it into the strands as she tried to prepare herself for seeing Ronald again. She wasn’t sure what tack to take with him. Unapologetic and business-like or weak and girly. Girly would probably work wonders on any of the Aurors. Still, unfortunately, Ron had seen behind the façade too many times to buy into it. She sighed as she stepped out, wondering how to style her hair as she stood in front of the mirror. 

~~~

She had never liked the Ministry, even as a child. They seemed meddlesome at worst and incompetent at best. Neither impression had ever filled her with confidence. She strutted her way towards the lifts, calling out for level two once she was in. The other occupants eyed her curiously as the cage started to move. 

Adjusting the shoulders of her green dress, she fiddled and titivated the material before brushing the form-hugging velvet free of fluff. She didn’t dress up often anymore and felt more constricted than empowered by the dress. She did admit that the square neckline showed her cleavage off to their best advantage without being too revealing. She fiddled with her necklace as she waited for the lift to arrive at the Auror offices. A wave of anxiety rolled over her making her breathless as she closed her eyes. Taking a few deep centring breaths, she felt more in control before she opened her eyes. She felt the eyes of the wizard to her left follow every line, the dress hugged. When she was younger, she would have made some snide remark, but she guessed she had matured. She turned her unfriendly eyes to meet the wizards. He swallowed, and after a second, he hurriedly looked away nervously. 

It was nice to know that she could still scare people, even if it was only used as a power for good these days. The cage opened on the second floor, and she stepped off, ducking to avoid the swarm of interdepartmental memos that were forcing their way in. She paused, standing to the side as she gathered her bearings. 

The air was filled with more paper aeroplanes as they zoomed between desks, narrowly avoiding the Aurors and other workers as they moved around the bullpen. A few eyes glanced at her, and she took an instant dislike to any of the men that looked her over starting at her ankles. She gave them a withering look before walking confidently to the office to one side. It was lunchtime, and his door was shut, that used to mean that he didn’t want to be disturbed. She knocked on the door, clutching her bag in her left palm as she brushed a stray hair from her face.

“I’m not here,” Came his voice around something he was eating. Pansy smirked, feeling a thrill of mischief fight off the anxious butterflies as she pushed in. Grinning at the shocked look on his face as she closed the door behind her, she spoke and waited for the stray bit of lettuce hanging from his mouth to drop. 

“Good, then I won’t be disturbing you, will I?”


	6. It Had Been So Long

After gawping for what seemed like forever, he seemed to remember his unchewed food, tugging hurriedly at the lettuce before tidying his hair. Pansy had him rattled, that was probably a good start, if she could stop his brain from kicking in, this would go a whole lot easier.

She moved towards him, using slow and graceful steps that showed off her legs and heels. He had always had a bit of a thing for her in heels. She moved to the chair in front of his desk.

“May I?” She asked, motioning to the seat. He nodded wordlessly as he packed his lunch away to one side. Gracefully, she slid into the creaky wooden chair, sitting with her legs neatly tucked in like a good pureblood girl should.

“I knew you’d be back,” he said, his nervous fussing betraying the contrary.

“Of course, what is it you once said to me? Once you go red, you’ll crave for my bed?” She asked, raising an eyebrow with a slight smirk. He blushed furiously at the words he’d shouted in anger when she had walked out.

“Yes, well... you’re here now aren't you?” He said, trying to gain the upper hand as he pretended to sort through the papers on his desk importantly. She had to admit, he still looked good, especially in his Auror robes. She tried to ignore the taut material at his arms where his biceps stretched his shirt.

“Indeed,” she said as she pretended to look around the office. She just wanted to get it over with and get out. The redhead had been infuriating, but he had been fun, and as much as she wished she did, she didn’t dislike him. He had just rushed them too hard and pushed her away. “How's the family?” She started small, hoping to get more as they carried on.

“Everyone’s fine. Mum’s still salty about you standing me up for dinner,”

Pansy nodded, “That's understandable although regrettable. However, I did tell you I didn’t want to go. We were moving too fast,” she turned to look at him with a raised eyebrow.

“It was only dinner...”

“…With the entire Weasley family,” she said with a roll of her eyes.

“That's not true! Charlie wasn’t going to be there...” he replied sullenly.

“No, but he turned up, didn't he? What kind of son wouldn't be there for his mothers birthday?” She asked pointedly.

“That's not the point!”

“No, it isn't, and its also not why I'm here,” She said with a wave of her hand, not wanting to start that argument all over again. 

“Why are you here?” He asked, meeting her eyes. Shit! His brain would be engaging any second unless she could think of something to distract him.  
“How are Harry and Hermione these days? Still saving the world?” She asked

He frowned and she waited, hoping it would throw him enough.

Something like that, but you probably hear more through Draco than I do from Harry. Nott and Zabini keep them both pretty busy these days,”

“What about the other Gryffs? Obviously not as important as they don't grace the papers,”

“Well, Seamus now works in the Janus Thickey ward, but you knew that already…” Ron said his eyes narrowing.   
“Ah yes, I do see him around now and again. Some of the patients in there are a sorry sight, I don’t know how he does it. There’s a couple in there that are completely out of it but still painfully in love,” She shook her head

Ron swallowed and looked away. For an Auror, he had far too many tells. “Don’t talk about them,”

“Why not?” She asked feigning a vague interest.

“That’s Frank and Alice Longbottom,” he said quietly,”

“No?” She said, pretending to be surprised, “They’re Longbottoms parents?” She shook her head. “Poor guy! What's he up to these days? I’ve not seen him since… well.” She paused, not mentioning the battle “Dating Lovegood these days? They were pretty close, weren’t they?”

Ron looked down picking at his fingernails. “No gossip? You’re no fun” she smirked as she stood up and turned to walk around, the smirk fell off her face as soon as he couldn't see her. She pretended to look at the knickknacks on a nearby filing cabinet. A Sneakoscope sat motionless next to a small crown.

A noise behind her made her turn. Weasley stood with his arms crossed behind her. The dark, high-necked waistcoat of his robes looked particularly good on him, making his skin glow. She had forgotten how much fun they’d had together as he stepped closer. His bluest eyes watched her, and she did nothing to stop him.

“Why are you here, Pans?” He asked, his voice low as he uncrossed his arms, shoving them into his pockets. Shitshitshit! His brain had engaged, and she was now trapped with him blocking her escape. His sharp eyes now seemed to take in every small detail and every minute gesture looking for a different meaning. The Auror had woken up, and she had squandered her advantage.

“You’re the only one that would take me seriously,” she said honestly.

“That's not true,” he said, stepping closer again, his eyes watching her for any sign of refusal. All she needed to do was say. It had always been their game. Like cat and mouse, chasing and chased. “I would take you with a smile on my face if I thought you would let me,” he ventured, and she snorted. They had been great together, she had tried to forget, and it had almost worked.

“That's not what I meant, and you know it,” he only shrugged, his shirt sleeves rolled at his elbows. Pansy took a deep breath, feeling suddenly very hot in her velvet dress.

“I don't know it, so far, you’ve stepped into my office, unannounced, dressed like that,” he nodded to the dress “and you’ve told me absolutely nothing. For all I know, you want me to take you. Didn’t you always say you wanted to try it in my office? Bent over my desk as I pretend to arrest you?”

Shit! She felt a thrill of excitement pool low in her abdomen at the mention of a long-held fantasy, muttered filthily in a darkened room, months ago.

She tried not to let the panic and the arousal flush her cheeks. This was not going at all to plan. She felt her cheeks burn anyway, as she looked away.

He stepped up to her and placed his hands on her hips.

“What are you doing here, in my office dressed like a personalised wet dream designed just for me? You know I’ll help you, you only have to ask,”

“If I tell you, you mustn’t ask any questions! I can’t tell you much, but it is important,” she breathed, looking back into his eyes. They were so blue that she felt as though she was diving into a lagoon.

“Can I ask a favour then? I would say in exchange, but my help doesn’t hinge on your answer,”

“What's the favour,” she asked, her eyes dropping from his eyes to his lips. 

“Can I kiss you?” She wanted to say no, she should say no. 

She nodded.

He closed the final distance between them, pressing against her as he lowered his head to hers. He kissed her gently at first, little kisses before capturing her lip in his teeth. She groaned, remembering how his kisses had driven her wild before. It had been so long. 

This was entrapment!

She was being set up! 

But as the answering warmth spread through her, she found she didn't care.


	7. Cold Case

“Bloody hell!” He breathed when they finally parted, his lips reddened, and his freckled cheeks flushed. “Merlin knows, I missed that!”

She nodded breathlessly as he pressed his forehead to hers.

“Now, what was it you wanted to tell me? Just so I can pretend I'm working.”

She swallowed and blinked, what had she come here for again? It hadn’t been for the kiss although Salazar knows she wanted more.

“Erm...” she said gracelessly,

“What’s this? The great Pansy Parkinson lost for words?” And with a jolt, she remembered, why she was there, dressed to impress.

“It’s Proctor now, remember?” She said, straightening back up again as she tried to regain her composure.   
Worry filled his eyes as he studied her face, his eyes flitting between hers, looking for a sign that she was in trouble. 

“Are you still getting the death threats? Have they found out who was writing those letters yet?” He asked, cupping her face in his hands.

She shook her head, “No, they seem to have stopped, but no, not yet,”

“What the fuck are they playing at?” He cursed, before pulling away from her and heading to the door. She watched as though in slow motion as if her mind were running through treacle.  
He pulled the door hard enough; she was surprised that the door didn’t come off its hinges. 

“Oi! Fletcher!” He barked. A blond wizard appeared in the doorway, looking nervously between Ron and Pansy. He seemed to be all leg without being tall. He certainly didn’t look as good in his uniform. He leered at her creepily. She sneered in disgust as she raised an eyebrow. He had been one of the Aurors checking her out, feet up. 

“What’s the problem? Me and the lads didn’t want to disturb you,” He grinned with a wink and a nod in Pansy’s direction. 

“What disturbs me is the fact that Miss P- Proctor here,” he said stumbling over her name change. 

“Healer,” Pansy interrupted “It’s healer Proctor,” She murmured numbly 

“Apologies, Healer Proctor, her life may still be in danger, and you’re doing nothing about it?” He shouted as he turned around and sat on the edge of his desk. 

“The Proctor case? We closed that case months ago. The trail went cold.” He shrugged nonchalantly. 

Pansy could feel the rage radiate from Ron and echoed the sentiment. Pushing away from the wall. 

“Fletcher, is it?” She asked sweetly. The Auror’s eyes darted down to her cleavage before back up to her eyes. He smiled at her as though he could be her knight in shining armour. 

“Yes, Madam.”

“I’ve been getting death threats for the better part of a year, as well as hate mail which meant me having to change my name. Do you think that’s acceptable?”

“No, Madam,” He shook his head. 

“And do you think I should have been notified that the case had been closed?

“Yes, Madam.” 

“Then why, In Salazar’s name, was I not notified?” She asked angrily “I suggest that, if you would like to keep this cushy little job of yours, you reopen my case and take it seriously,”

“You can’t demote me,” He smirked. “You don’t work here,”

“No, but I can,” Ron said from behind her. “And I don’t feel like you’ve done your duty for this victim,” Pansy cringed inwardly at the word victim, but that was what she was so she remained silent. 

“What? Why?” 

“If you don’t reopen her case and start thinking outside the box, I will be having words with Kingsley.”

“But why? She that good in bed that she has you wrapped around her little finger?” he looked her up and down again, starting at her feet, as thought trying to imagine just how good she was.

“Fletcher!” Ron growled. 

“You can’t demote me over her! She’s just a…” 

“A what?” She asked calmly

“Surely you wouldn’t demote me over someone like her? the case went cold!” he protested

“What about the parchment, where was it bought? Who was the ink Manufacturer? Any magical residue?” Ron asked tiredly. 

Fletcher stood there silently, his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. “If you don’t know the answer to even one of those questions, I’ll be reassigning you to Azkaban for six months,” Ron warned. “Now get out,”

Fletcher turned to leave. Pansy grabbed her wand and wordlessly cast a trip jinx. He cried out loudly as he fell out of the door—the room beyond erupting into laughter as Ron flicked his wand, shutting the door behind him. 

“I’ll pretend I didn’t see that…” He smirked before he sighed. “I’m sorry about the case, I didn’t know, I’ll keep track of it and him more closely moving forward.” He said as he rubbed at his temple.

She stood up and walked over to him. 

“Don’t worry, I can handle myself.”

“Probably better than most of my Auror’s!” he replied with a nod and a snort, reaching out to take her hands. He looked sadly down at them before looking back up at her, his fingers massaging her knuckles softly. “You’re not here to ask me back, are you?” 

Pansy took a deep breath and shook her head. “I’m not, I was hoping that by dressing up, you’d actually see me, instead of throwing me out, especially after how we left things,”

“Well if you ever want to swing by in future, dressed to the nines or not, it would be nice.” He smiled sadly, suddenly looking exhausted. “What did you really come here for, Pans? He asked again. 

“I think someone is watering down the Wolfsbane supply, making them less effective and the werewolves potentially much more dangerous.”

“Since when do you get involved in creatures?” Ron asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“No questions, remember?” He sighed and nodded. 

“Leave it with me, I’ll look into it. However, promise me you’ll steer clear of any werewolves this week. It’s the full moon tonight,”

“I know, that’s why it couldn’t wait.” She said, avoiding any commitment

He raised her hands up to his lips and kissed her “Are you sure I can’t tempt you back? Not even with dinner-just the two of us,” he added quickly. “Tonight?” 

Pansy shook her head, she had already made a commitment to the Longbottoms, and that wasn’t negotiable. 

“I can’t, I’m out,” She said finally with a shake of her head. 

“You don’t need to lie to me…” He said sadly. 

“I’m not lying, I’m out with friends,”

He sighed as he stood up and returned to his desk. 

“Just go Pans. I’ve got work to do. More now that I know this.”

“Thank you, Ronald. It’s more important than you know,” 

“Yeah yeah, go on.” He said without looking up. She sighed and kissed him on the cheek before walked towards the door. She turned before she left and caught his eyes following her arse as she left the room.


	8. Eleven Months Earlier…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please read the tags as this chapter tackles a very triggering subject. 
> 
> Of you decide you wish to continue reading, please note, I will not entertain any comments regarding the moral stance of the subject involved and offensive comments will be deleted. 
> 
> That being said, I hope you enjoy this chapter x

Eleven Months Earlier…

“You’re still alright to come to the burrow tomorrow, aren’t you? Mum’s really looking forward to meeting you,”

She sighed and rubbed at her temples, relieved that he couldn’t see her. “Yep,”

“I’ve got her present already, and I’ve put that it’s from the both of us. You remember what we got her?” Ron asked again, his disembodied voice filling her flat. She was trying to get some study in before she had to go to work. He was not helping her with that at all, nor was the sick feeling stirring somewhere between her stomach and her throat. The forgotten sandwich she’d grabbed from the canteen had looked a bit suspicious.

“Pans?” 

“Yep,” She replied again. Her feelings on the whole matter had been made abundantly clear, but as usual, the Gryffindork didn’t listen. Their arrangement was only ever meant to be temporary and only for fun, but somewhere along the line, Ronald had caught feelings. 

She certainly wasn’t in the same headspace. After spending a lifetime under the control of others, now that she was finally doing something for herself, she refused to give it up. Rubbing at her sternum as she tried to ease the nausea enough to concentrate. 

“Are you listening to me?” She shook her head and bolted to the toilet as her temperature plummeted, and the sickness rolled through her. Damn that sandwich! It would be a long while before she looked at egg mayonnaise in the same way again. 

She clung to the toilet and waited for her body temperature to return to normal. The was a whoosh from the other room and knew that Ron was in her living room. Calling for her, his voice got closer. It’s not like there were very many places to hide in the small studio flat “Pans? Where are you?”

“In here,” she croaked wiping at her mouth with the back of her hand, vowing she would never eat in the hospital restaurant again. 

“You alright?” He asked from the doorway before kneeling down next to her. Concern furrowed his brow as he looked her over. Reaching an arm out to stroke her back, he frowned “Are you coming down with something?” She shrugged him off and stood as the warmth returned to her chilled skin. 

“I’m fine,” She whispered cooly as she headed to the sink. Silence filled the room as he watched her brush her teeth. 

“Is everything alright?” He asked again, rising to his feet. “Are you going to be okay for tomorrow?” 

Urgh, that damn party. A flash of anger pricked her as she dried her hands with the towel.

“It’s fine,” she closed her eyes, a pressure headache building up behind them. She didn’t want him there, crowding her in her tiny bathroom going on about something she had no interest in.

“So we still on then? For tomorrow?” He asked, leaning around to see her face. 

“Please! I don’t want to go. We’re not a couple! What am I supposed to tell everyone? ‘We’re not together, we just fuck occasionally’?” He blushed. She wasn’t sure whether it was at her language or at her comment in general. 

“Bloody Hell, Pans! Don’t say that!” He said with a chuckle, but his eyes told that he wasn’t sure that she wouldn’t do just that. 

“I don’t want to go and meet all your family. I have work to do,”

“It’s not really all the family, Charlie can’t get time off.” He said with a shrug. “Come on Pans, it’s my Mum’s birthday, and she really wants to meet you,”

“Disappointment is healthy for the soul,” She shot back, brushing past him on her way to the living room. 

“My mother’s disappointment isn’t healthy for anyone, least of all me.” He said, catching her wrist. 

She stopped and looked down at his hand before back up to his face. Smirking at her, he released it. Following her into the other room, he stood by the sofa as she moved to her books on the table. She rubbed at the ridge of her nose to try and release the tension building there. 

“Ron, please! I will use small words so that you might understand. I. Don’t. Want. To. Meet. Your. Family. They all hate me anyway, and I have course work to do,” Pleading a final time before picking up her mug and swigging at the cold coffee. 

“It’ll be fun, I’ll show you around. My dad has a garage full of Muggle things.” He said with a laugh, not taking the hint. Her headache intensified as did her frustration. A niggling worm of anxiety poked at her as she remembered the date, but she ignored it. She didn’t want to examine it too closely while he was still in the room. 

“Just go home, Ron! Please, I’ll talk to you later, right now I need to lie down,”

“Hope you feel better,” He offered as he kissed her forehead and disappeared through the fire in a flash of green flames. 

She felt the anxiety and unease intensify as she did some mental calculations. 

Shit!

Her period was late…

Standing, she walked to the bathroom and stopped before turning back to her chair and taking another few steps. As soon as she started moving, she turned around to the bathroom, unsure of what to do. 

She contemplated denial but had seen far too many women brought into the hospital hoping that they weren’t, only to find they very much were. 

Grabbing her wand from the table, she turned back to the bathroom. Lowering the toilet lid, she sat down and took a deep breath. She closed her eyes and waved her wand over her stomach, trying not to panic as she felt the tingle of her magic against her skin. 

She counted down slowly from twenty as she waited. 

Her blood pressure was low, lower than normal, but that could have been down to anything. She continued her examination but faltered when her magic came into contact with something, a resistance. She almost dropped her wand as she stopped. 

Breathing hard and feeling bile rise up in her throat, she sat there, alone contemplating the future ahead of her. Ron would insist on marriage, being the traditionalist he was. She would have to give up her studies to take care of the child. 

No…

She couldn’t do it. Rushing to the now dormant fireplace, she collapsed to the floor and threw a handful of Floopow into the waiting hearth. 

“Elixirs and Illicit Mixtures” she called, trying to weigh down the panic as she waiting for Draco to answer. 

“Pansy? To what do I owe the Pleasur-”

“Dray?” She squeaked, feeling the tears constrict her airways. “Dray, I need you. Please!” She begged, hating the weak, trembling whisper that escaped. 

“Alright,” he answered without any further questions. “Step away,” he warned. She shifted to one side, allowing him enough room to come through. A fine tremble had started through her body, and she couldn’t catch her breath, her thin, lightweight shirt was suddenly tight and constricting.

Draco pushed through the green flames and looked around for her, his blonde hair swishing in a wave of silver. He wore a pair of faded blue tracksuit bottoms and a white teeshirt, looking so much less than the pureblood Prince he was. 

“Pansy?” he called before catching sight of her. He rushed to her side, placing his hands onto her shoulders. His eyes assess her, taking in any visible damage. He frowned when he found nothing. “What’s wrong?”

She shook her head, unable to speak, as though that small seed within her had already grown, forcing the air from her chest. 

“Breathe as I do,” He said calmly, breathing in, then, after a few seconds, out again. She tried to copy, swallowing her panic to breathe, but the tears poured down her cheeks determined to escape regardless of what she did. Cursing herself, large, fat tears drenched her face and started to soak the front of her shirt. “Pansy, What’s happened?”

She tried to speak around the swollen and tensing muscles in her throat, resulting in nothing but a croak. He took her face in her hands. 

“I can try Legillimens?” he offered, looking into her face. Pansy nodded, meeting his gaze. 

It was an odd experience having him rooting through her memories, like a flipbook playing out in front of her mind. She started to breathe heavily when she watched the memories back. He pulled away and came back into focus, shock and concern evident on his pale face. 

“Pansy…” he breathed softly, stroking her cheeks with his thumbs. Glancing to her stomach, he couldn’t hide the crestfallen look. It made her heartache as she closed her eyes. She was so stupid. 

“I know, I’m in trouble,” She sobbed again, trying to bite it back in.

“What... erm…” He stumbled “What are you going to do?”

“I can’t…” She said, not able to finish the sentence. She didn’t have the money, the time or the inclination to look after a baby. She considered adoption, but she couldn’t bear to think of a child of hers running around out of her sight. Out in the wilderness possibly without love, starving and alone. Knowing she couldn’t keep it and knowing the only other alternatives, she voted.

“St Mungo’s,” She whispered. 

“Do you want me to go with you?” He asked. She gripped one of the hands from her face and nodded another sob escaping her. “Stay here, I’ll grab your coat,” He said before releasing her. The trembling began again as she waited, her hands seeking out the life growing in her abdomen. “Come on,” Draco said, offering her his hand. She clung to it like a lifeline as he helped her to her feet.


	9. Dumbledore's Delight

“Weasel? again?“ Draco demanded as she stepped through into the back room. One glance at her dress seemed to have told him everything.

He spared a second glance for her face, his pale blue eyes serious and searching, and she smiled. Reassured, he snorted and shook his head, turning back to the cauldron.

“What in Salazar’s name were you thinking?” A pained expression crossed his face as he added a couple of drops of a dark purple liquid to the concoction before stirring three strokes clockwise and then another five anti-clockwise.

“Hello to you too,” she muttered as she collapsed ungracefully into the armchair in the corner.

“You don't deserve a greeting if you’ve gone slinking back to that Crettin, and if you’ve lost all your faculties then a lack of salutation is the least of your problems,”

“He’s not a Crettin...“

“He’s an uncouth, uncultured, blithering idiot! Oblivious swine! Hades knows why Shacklebolt promoted him to head,”

“I see someone’s not bitter...” she smirked

“Bitter? What on earth could I have to be bitter about?” He snapped, throwing a glare at her before returning his attention to the potion brewing in front of him.

“Certainly not over your lost game of chess with him last week?”

“That has absolutely nothing to do with it, and you know it!” he retorted, turning back to the bubbling brew.

She slouched, feeling her heart thud in her throat like she was running late for an appointment, or racing towards a finish line. She swallowed. What was happening to her? It couldn’t have anything to do with seeing Ron, could it?

That night... that whole week, in fact, had been one of the worst she had ever experienced for so many reasons, and it was certainly not one that she was in any rush to repeat. So she was at a loss to explain what had happened. One minute she was fully in control of herself, the next she wanted to press herself against his skin, and drink him in. She shook her head and blushed. Even now, she could taste his lips on hers, and her body longed for more.

Her eyes drifted to Draco, as she waited for him to finish. She could understand Molly being annoyed with how she had left Ronald. No note, no explanation, nothing. However, if she had told them the real reason, she would have been sucked into a bottomless pit of Weasley’s, and the control over her own body would have been forfeit. 

Her eyes followed the lean lines of Draco in his shirt, as the material disappeared into his trousers. Her gaze lingered on his tight backside as the fabric pulled taut as he moved. She wondered what it would feel like to smack and kneed it. 

She physically jumped as she realised what she was thinking, her cheeks blazing with the heat of a thousand suns. What the fuck was wrong with her?

“You alright?” He asked, glancing back at her. She nodded wordlessly before looking away. She and Draco had never had that sort of relationship, nor would they as Draco’s tastes were of a more masculine flavour. She was just admiring, there was nothing wrong with that. 

Sighing, she tried to convince herself that everything was good even as the hormones raged in her system. After some mental arithmetic, she knew that it was nowhere near that time of the month, so there was no reason that she should be so close to ripping her best friends clothes off. 

She blamed Ron. Maybe he was a Crettin after all! 

Finally, he finished the potion, bottled and labelled it before turning his full attention to her.

“So, tell me everything, Little Stepmother?” He asked kindly, but with a teasing twinkle in his eye. 

“Using that name for me doesn’t endear me,” She sneered

“All the others are so… dramatic,” He said with a roll of his eyes. “Tittle-my-fancy? Bouncing Bet? Heartsease?”

“That one,” She smiled, trying to ignore how he moistened his lips with his tongue. 

“So tell me everything, my heartsease,” He purred, and she smiled. 

“I can’t,” She said regretfully. “It’s not my tale to tell,” She shrugged, her thoughts going to Neville. His strong jaw and warm eyes watching her like a cat stalking birds. His intensity made her breath catch in her throat, that raw and unfettered power. She wondered how he would look after a few decent meals and a good nights sleep. Her mind rushed to the thought of him in bed…

“Pansy!” Draco shouted.

“Huh?” She blinked at him. “What? No need to shout! I’m only here!”

“Physically maybe… Where did you just go?” He asked 

“Nowhere,” She said with a frown. Maybe she was just tired… 

“I was asking you why you were here, you don’t normally visit me at work.” He asked, the suspicious look still on his face. 

“I wanted to know how much you would charge for a Wolfsbane potion if someone could provide most of the ingredients?” She asked. Draco straightened, his pale face a blank mask as his eyes narrowed in confusion.

“Dumbledore’s delight? If this is your way of telling me you’re a werewolf, I demand you leave, come back in and try again,”

“It’s not me!” she tutted. 

“Then, who?” He asked, leaning forward again. “The Pansy, I know, wouldn’t come to see little old me, about something like this unless it was important,”

“It is important, it’s for a patient,”

“How many patients do you have?” He crossed his arms over his chest, “You’ve never come in for one of them before… what's special about this one?”

“I’m not hearing a price…” Pansy said avoiding the question as she avoided looking at his cherub’s bow lips.

“well… which ingredients are we talking about?”

“All of them except the Venomous Tentacular leaves and the Acromantular venom.” 

“So the important ingredients then,” He said with a raised eyebrow. He shook his head and stood, pacing as he worked the cost. “The street cost is about seventy Galleons, but the quality is variable, so the Vervain isn’t gathered specifically at Midsummer, and they use any old Bloodroot, not the kingroots.” He said thoughtfully, he fell quiet again. 

She watched as his mind worked on the problem, wondering what the outcome would be. 

“If I could get everything and I mean everything except the leaves and venom, I could go as low as fifty-five galleons, and if it was for you, I wouldn’t be able to accept less than forty.” He blushed at this. Pansy knew he hated taking money from her knowing she had so little. His parents had the forethought to set up a trust fund which Draco couldn’t touch until his twenty-first birthday. 

“So if it was for a friend, I could say fifty?” She asked; hopefully, He narrowed his eyes but nodded. 

“On average, moons around the quarter days would be slightly higher, but only because the recipe would need to be adjusted to take into account the solar shifts.” 

She nodded, understanding now, just why Augusta has started selling her furniture, 4000 galleons was no small sum. She could purchase her whole flat for less. 

“Thank you, Draco,” 

“Not so fast. I do have certain conditions,” 

“But of course,” she nodded. 

“Firstly, I would need to know who the potion was for as there may be underlying health problems that could affect the potency. I would need to see where the herbs are grown and have full access to them to collect when I need them. Obviously, they would only be used for the… friends potion,” He paused. 

“I will relay it to my friend, and I will come back to you.” She smiled. She needed to go, it felt like fire ants were crawling and biting their way up her arms. 

“Please be careful, my heartsease,” He said, reaching to grab her hand. 

There was a time she would have retorted, saying that she always was… She cringed inwardly. She wasn’t able to say that any more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dumbledore's delight is a folk name for Wolfsbane
> 
> Heartsease, little stepmother and Tittle-my-fancy are all folk name for Pansy flower. 
> 
> 4000 Galleons is approximately £20,000


	10. Haunted

The afternoon reminded her of her childhood, where the sun lingered on the hazy horizon casting long shadows in the dying heat. A building hint of death magic in the air that always appeared as the night started their slow growth towards Yule. In the late summer heat, it felt virtually undetectable, nothing more than a slight bite to the breeze, or a whisper in the rustle of dying leaves. 

She had always loved this time of year, right on the quarter points as the days shortened, the sun digging its fingers into the earth in the form of lengthy shadows as it fought to retain its dwindling power. It was a deep, ancient, elemental magic which threaded through everything imperceptibly, merely hinted at in the quiet moments of the fading year.

She paused at the garden gate, and took a steadying breath in the warm afternoon, taking in the beautiful view of the fields, with their muggle machines gathering the crops in large barrels. Even in the stillness of the countryside around her, she couldn’t seem to rid herself of the mounting anxiety building in her chest. 

The sensation of ants had passed about an hour previous. However, her skin now felt tight and restrictive as though she was expanding, her skin unable to keep up. Pansy thought a caterpillar, emerging from a chrysalis could relate. She reached for the wood and pushed, wondering if her skin would tear as she stretched her hand out to shut it behind her.

The Longbottom’s mill house was pretty with its grey stone and blue slate roof. A river ran alongside, pushing an ancient-looking water mill to the side, moss and river weed clinging to the paddles as it slowly rolled in the current. It was beautiful now, but she bet it was stunning once when Neville had cared for it. She imagined him bent over, shirtless as he tended to the flower beds. 

Pansy let out a breath, feeling the burning skin slacken. She touched her face and chest, and she did indeed feel feverish. Maybe she was coming down with the flu... it would explain all the strange emotions and sensations she had been experiencing. Her eyes lingered on the wayward flowers, her mind on gleaming skin.

“Pansy?” She looked up, startled as Augusta looked at her from the door, worry lines deep in the grooves around her eyes. “Are you well?”

“Mrs Longbottom. Sorry, yes, I am, how are you?” She shook her head as she tried to recover her composure. She offered a tight smile as Augusta stepped aside and motioned for her to enter the house.

“Please, come in.” She smiled, a short, sudden twitch of lips before it disappeared again. A roar from the rear of the house distracted her, making her heart quiver and the hair rise on the back of her neck. “The moon rose early today,”

“Oh,” Pansy said. She looked at the grandfather clock in confusion. She could have sworn that the moon didn’t clear the horizon until quarter past four. She swallowed her nervousness down, a drowning wave of guilt filled her. “I apologise for not being here sooner. My business in town took longer than anticipated.” She explained as she waited for Augusta to shut the door. She felt mortified as her mind skittered to the kiss with Ron. Swallowing again, she felt unable to believe she had been so careless. “Did he shift alright?” She asked, trying to keep her tone light and professional.

“I believe so.” She nodded before wincing “It sounded as unpleasant as normal,” She said, pushing an escaped thread of hair back from her face. 

They walked through to the kitchen and heard a howl from the other room. Her eyes flew to the door like metal to a magnet, hoping to catch a glimpse of him but knowing it was pointless. She studied the wood of the door as though she could see through them into the room beyond. 

“Pansy?” Augusta said again. She turned and blinked again.

“Sorry?” She apologised again with a frown, placing her bag onto the table. The healing books had been her attempt to catch up on her work while she waited for Neville to shift back again. She peeled off her jacket and hooked it over the back of the chair. 

“I asked whether you wanted a coffee?”

“Please,” she nodded, pushing her hair away from her face. She felt completely spaced like she was in more than one place in time.

“Are you sure you’re well? I don’t presume to know you well. However, this evening you seem… distracted,” Augusta frowned as she carried the cup over, handing it to her before motioning to the chair.   
She almost jumped when another series of barks came from the locked room. 

Pansy tried to ignore the noise as she nodded. She frowned too, trying to account for her behaviour “Its probably nothing, just a little light-headed. I’m sure coffee will fix it, I’ve yet to meet a coffee I didn’t like,” she smiled straining to be heard over the growling. Lowering herself into the chair, her eyes drifted back to the door, unable to tear her eyes away. 

Suddenly, the noise stopped, leaving a high pitch ringing in the silence of the house. Pansy felt her heart stutter, her eyes glancing to Augusta who stared suspiciously at the door. 

It took two or three painfully long moments before any noise came from the door again. A slow, deep sniff followed by some frantic snuffling came from under the door before a long, pink tongue swiped the floor beneath before disappearing beyond view. She swallowed nervously. Why did she feel that the silence was that a bad thing? 

Another few moments passed before a heartbreaking keening came from the other side intermingled with a burst of snarls. Pansy glanced to Augusta, hoping that this was normal behaviour. However, Augusta’s frown seemed to deepen as she scowled at the door. 

“I take it, he doesn’t normally make that noise?” Nervously, she watched as the elder shook her head. 

“Not to my knowledge. He usually quietens down after a while.” She turned away and looked at Pansy, “It’s probably because you are here, he can probably smell your scent,” she said cooly. 

The idea made her feel hot all over again. She cursed under her breath, why couldn’t she find her professional demeanour? Especially with Augusta regarding her with cold eyes. 

“I spoke to my friend, about his supply of Wolfsbane,” She said, trying to ignore the scratching and sniffing at the base of the door where the tongue had been. 

“You needn’t have, as it turns out we will no longer be requiring your friend’s services,” Augusta replied coolly.

“Oh, really? Have you managed to source a more reliable supplier?” Pansy asked curiously, raising the cup to her lips. 

“I’m sure any supplier I try will inevitably be linked with You-Know-Who, however none so much as yours.” She advised 

Pansy sat for a moment and scrutinised the older woman across from her, Her body language was too rigid and taut like a tensed up spring. 

“Draco was a child when the dark lord invaded his home. If that is your only concern?” She started her Augusta turned her head away from the unpleasant conversation. 

“I feel that is enough to look at alternative means,”

“May I ask why?” Pansy asked finally. 

“You may, but I feel that everything that needs to be said has been said, everything else is irrelevant.” She said flippantly. 

“Irrelevant? I believe the relevance is currently scratching seven shades of Slytherin out of that door.” She pointed to the quivering door as Neville went berserk behind it. “Have you even sourced an alternative supplier for the potion yet?”   
Augusta’s lip thinned, reminding her for a moment of Professor McGonagall. “Excuse me if I misunderstood. However I was operating under the assumption that you were willing to do anything to ease this whole situation,”

Augusta looked down at her tea, and Pansy heard the slight rattle as she picked her cup up from the saucer. The woman was scared or angry, probably both. When she looked up again their eyes met. It wasn’t a completely hostile glare, but it was nowhere near as friendly as it had been only that morning. She was used to seeing the distrust and anger in peoples eyes. It certainly wasn’t an uncommon occurrence. However, after everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours, she had not expected to see it here. She met Augusta’s green eyes without flinching. This was not a conversation she was unused to having. 

“Neville told you things about my past…” She stated tiredly and rolled her eyes when Augusta nodded. “And now you doubt my intentions,” 

“He did, healer Proctor.” She lingered over the false last name and waited as if Pansy was supposed to deny it. “I do wonder why someone would go to such lengths to hide their identity,” 

“Such lengths?” Pansy bit the inside of her lip. Wanting to tell her about the hate mail and the stalkers. About the nightmares in the middle of the night and the constant fear of being watched and judged for things that were nothing more than a childish mistake. She wanted this woman to understand, more than anything to know how sincere she was in her intentions, but she owned this woman nothing. 

“Yes, hiding who you are so that you can gain entrance into unsuspecting peoples homes. I believe that you are training to be a healer; Otherwise, Healer Sloane wouldn’t have brought you here. I do wonder though, does he know who you really are?”

“Yes and if he hadn’t brought me here, Neville would be dead.” She said matter-of-factly. Barely noticing the quiver of her heart when she said the words. Augusta blanched at the cold fact. “Now, my childhood is not up for debate and nor is it pertinent, if you wish for me to continue doing my job, that is?”

“Neville believes that you will use him to make your name, sell photos of him to the prophet as some kind of freak show. My Grandson is very proud and private. I don’t know if I can trust someone that has already lied, to keep this delicate matter from becoming a public scandal

“Firstly, your grandson didn’t know me at school, not really, and secondly, there is nothing I can say that will change your mind, so if you want to believe Neville’s stories of a frightened little school girl…” She shrugged.

“Are you calling my grandson a liar?” She asked bristling. 

“You Grandson is many things. However, a liar is not one of them. I prefer the phrase, ill-informed. Now, will you let me do my job?” She gritted her teeth, hoping to hold onto her patience a bit longer. 

“I think you should leave. We don’t need help from the likes of you,”

“You need help from the likes of someone, and soon,” Pansy retorted finally. 

“I beg your pardon?” Augusta cried, “How dare-”

“How dare I, indeed!” She snapped as she stood, pressing her fingers into the wood. “Your Grandson is dying, and if you don’t do something soon, it will be too late.” She warned, pointing at the door where the scratting had picked up the tempo. “That man in there believes that by ending his life, he will make the world a better place. He feels like the world has abandoned him because even though he was the one to push people away, they never fought hard enough to help him. Neville needs someone to fight for him because he is tired of fighting. As are we all!” She grabbed her bag, pulled out a few potions that she had managed to get from Draco and proceeded to slam them on the table.

“These are for when he shifts back. Take these straight away, and these are for tomorrow.” She said, pointing to the potions. Augusta looked at her, holding her chest, tears pricking in the corners of her eyes. Pansy wanted to say more but refused. Picking up her bag, she turned around. She paused, fighting with her decision. Fuck it. She thought sparing a glance for the whining wolf behind the door. She turned back to Augusta and sneered “And if you both decide to look past your closed-minded prejudices long enough to get the potion brewed properly then he knows how to send an owl.” She snarled before turning and walking back down the corridor towards the front door. A heartwrenching howl followed her out of the door as she slammed it behind her. Apparating back to her empty flat where she collapsed onto her bed, exhausted.


	11. Just A Memory

He cradled his head in his hands, gripping and tugging at the hair, the pain a distraction from his panic. His breath came in short angry barks as he processed his memories. Why was he still here? The Aconite should have been enough to stop his heart and release him from this constant agony. 

He released his hair and looked at his hands, the nails were dirty and splintered, on thin skeletal hands, looking more like a dementor than a human. He screamed in frustration as he stood up and punched the wall. Why did it have to be her? is raced around his mind like a greyhound on a track. Why her, why her, why her? 

He growled, feeling the wolf stretch inside, so close to bursting free. The wolf growled back, as it fidgeted impatiently waiting for its release. The scent of cherries filling the air around him. He tried to howl as tears came to his eyes. Cherries everywhere, on his skin, his clothes even in his mouth and nose. He started to pace, but there was no escape. 

“Neville?” A voice croaked from the door,

“What?” he turned angrily. His Gran stood in the doorway looking so much weaker than she had done when they were younger. He didn’t mean to be angry with her, but he could have ended it if only she hadn’t meddled. 

“I made you a brew,” she said, offering him the mug. He lashed out, knocking the cup from her hand, sending the hot tea across the room. 

“Why was she here?” He growled, his wolf caring nothing for the flinch she gave at the outburst. 

“That was your favourite mug,” She said with a shake of her head. “You’ll be cross about that tomorrow,” She muttered summoning the shards of china from the wet floor. “I’ll try and mend it,” She said, turning to the door and disappearing. He growled again. 

“What was she doing here?” He shouted, following her into the kitchen. 

“She’s a healer,” She replied quietly without looking up from the broken mug. 

“No, she’s not!” he scoffed 

“She came with Healer Sloane, She’s training to be.”

“She’s a gossip and a liar!” Her growled, the doorway seeming too small to hold him. 

“What? No, Healer Proctor seemed very capable and reliable,”

“Who?”

“That girl,”

“Proctor?” He laughed and stormed back into the other room, the anxious energy that always came with the shift bubbling up under the surface. 

“Yes,”

“That was a Parkinson, Gran. Pansy Parkinson!”

“What?” She called, horrified. 

“She sold some of those stories about Harry to Rita Skeeter during the Triwizards tournament,”

There was silence, and he wondered whether the buzz of anxiety filled her heart as it did his. “She’ll be at the prophet offices as we speak telling them everything,”

He slid down the wall, the realisation dawning on him that it was probably true. He closed his eyes and frowned, his chest hurt. He wondered how much was damage from the Aconite and how much was heartbreak. 

He had fancied her for as long as he could remember but he hated her. Hated that she made him feel so inadequate, that she was still so perfect and untouched by the war when he was so, so ruined. 

He growled and closed his eyes, refusing to recall anything from that damned battle. Those accusing blue eyes would haunt him until he final breath her voice echoed in his ears. Just his name, a question, and then nothing. 

He clawed at the air as he climbed to his feet, his energy levels keeping him from sitting still. 

How could she be so untouched and why could he taste her? he cried out in frustration his mind warring with his body just as his body battled the wolf. Why had it been her? She was everywhere. The wolf sniffed the air contentedly rolling in her scent within his lungs and he shivered. 

“She’ll ruin us,” he roared as he began to pace again. 

The day passed in fleeting moments of regret and remorse in an overwhelming ocean of anger. This could have all been finished. He could have been free had she not saved him. 

Remembering waking up and seeing her lying there motionless had shaken him. She had featured in so many dreams where that had been the outcome of his anger that to suddenly be faced with the realisation of it had shaken him. 

He rubbed at his arms as he looked at the clock. The sensation of ants up and down his skin always indicated that the change was imminent. Looking out into the kitchen for the thousandth time, he hoped Pansy had returned. But of course, she hadn’t, who would? No one… 

Disappointment overwhelmed him again when the room remained empty. Why would she come back? She knew everything she needed to report back to the Prophet, she didn’t need him any more. He growled again as he tried lying in the cot she had transfigured. Her magic vibrated through it, the scent of cherries strongest here. He pushed his palms into his eyes. 

For the briefest of moments, he had hoped that he wouldn’t be alone when the moon rose, that just knowing she would be on the other side of the door would help him accept the change. But of course, she hadn’t come back. No one ever came back. 

He dissolved into fat, pitiful tears as the tip of the moon rose above the horizon. The door shut, locking him in as the wolf stretched and seemingly grinned smugly at him. The sensation of ants fled his skin as the wolf expanded from within. 

He howled as his skin stretched. The pain was immediate as bones broke and flesh shredded before reknitting itself together again. He remembered watching his thin skeletal hands grow and darken, his skin turning grey and hairy. His mind faded to instinct as Neville became a memory.


	12. Too Many Roses

Pansy woke with a start, a face full of pillow and a head full of questions. Her heart raced as though she had been chased out of sleep by some unseen pursuer, snapping at her heels, getting ever closer. She groaned and rubbed at her face as she waited for the adrenaline to ease out of her system. After five minutes, she felt as agitated as before. She glanced out the window, watching as the rain left tears on the glass. She knew how the weather felt as a tear escaped from the corner of her eye. It rolled down puffy cheeks, following the track of so many from the night before. It had been at least six months since she had dealt with anyone recognising her or her last name since her name change. She should have been used to it, but it still stung. Swinging her legs out of bed, she shed her clothes before jumping into the shower.

The grey September light washed the room, leaving her feeling numb and empty. Even as the hot water soothed her aching muscles, she felt cold inside as though she had been turned inside out and worn as a hat. She shivered and scrubbed her skin until she was pink and sore then let the water flow through her hair.

Knowing that the day was going to be a long one, she took an extra moment to massage her scalp with the shampoo instead of just rubbing it in. The firm pressure on her head seemed to ease some of the tension, and she sighed. Shifts started again today, which meant twelve long hours in St Mungos. All she wanted to do was cry, but she was all cried out. The massaged scalp helped her feel somewhat more human as she rinsed off and stepped out. She shivered in the chilled air as she wrapped herself in a towel, missing the luxuriously soft ones she used to have when she lived with her parents. These muggle towels felt rough against her skin, probably exactly what she deserved, however.

She padded quietly back into the other room to dress, running her wand through her hair, instantly drying it into her trademark long bob. After sliding on her scrubs, she headed towards the little kitchenette. If there was a day that needed coffee, it was today. 

Coffee made, she sat down at the counter, jumping when an owl landed on the window sill outside. She held her hand to her chest for a moment as she tried to recover her runaway pulse. Pushing the window open, the tawny hopped in, a small, damp pile of letters bound together in red ribbon. The owl disappeared back into the wet morning as she closed the window behind it. 

She released the pile from their bindings as she studied the handwriting. One was from her mother, the long elegant script recognisable on the pale lavender envelope. She tossed it onto the worktop unopened, no doubt she was trying to convince her to give up her childish ambition of becoming a healer and to join them in France. Most of her letters went along the same route. 

A white letter from Italy -that would be Blaise. She wondered how the Italian auror was getting on. He had wanted to join the force for as long as they had been friends but knew that the British ministry would never have him. 

A red envelope and a leaflet for Janus Galloglass magical mirrors remained. She snorted at the junk mail, throwing it onto the counter before turning her attention to the envelope. Its vermillion parchment was well made and thick. She frowned as she slid it out. The letter inside was of the same thick, heavy page. She unfolded it and stared at the short missive before her hand started to shake. 

***Howl at the Moon with Longbottom again, and I’ll show you what a real predator can do miss Parkinson...***

The silver writing jumped out at her as though glaring with intention. Her blood froze in her veins, her heart no longer able to pump the heat as it stuttered. She dropped the page onto the work bar and stared as her brain tried to catch up despite the lack of blood and air. 

They knew… about Longbottom… her real name, even where she lived. She covered her mouth to stifle a cry as a sob threatened to escape.

She swallowed thickly as she tried to breath and blink against the tears. Her knees threatened to buckle as the red envelope marred the neutral tones of her flat. Her first instinct was to burn it. Before it became a conscious thought, she had her wand in her hand and pointed. She glared at the ugly red envelope as the rest of the room disappeared. She opened her mouth to cast the spell but stopped. The Aurors should see it. But then they’d know about Neville. The sudden chill of fear was overwhelmed by frustration and anger. 

Whoever was doing this knew that she wanted to keep Neville’s secret, and the phrasing of the letter meant she would be unable to show it to anyone without them jumping to the correct conclusions. They knew that this would be for her eyes only. 

“Fuck,” she muttered with feeling, her voice shaking as she clung to the work surface. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes as the rising panic threatened to suffocate her. 

With shaky hands, she lowered her wand and picked up the letter again, making sure to only touch the edges. She pushed it back into the envelope and moved silently to her bedside table, sliding the message into the drawer, and closed it again, almost as quickly. 

She stood and walked away, hoping to forget about the letter, but she could feel it like a raging fire behind her.   
It was no use, she couldn’t be in the same room as it, not yet. She looked around for her coat and bag. Her bag had been where she had left it, but her jacket was nowhere to be seen. She rolled her eyes. This was not going to be a good day. 

~~~

“Well, someone looks like they got trampled by an Erumpent herd this morning!” came the remark from behind her. Pansy rolled her eyes and glared. “Oh come on Parky, You know that look has never worked on me!” Millicent said as she sidled up next to her at the counter. 

“That’s only because you’ve never given me cause to hurt you, until now…” She muttered quietly as she filled out the chart in front of her. 

“Awww, did someone get up on the wrong side of the coffin this morning?” The woman pouted insincerely next to her. 

“Please, stop,” Pansy begged, pinching the bridge of her nose. 

“Are you alright?” Millicent asked again, this time she could hear the sincerity. She turned her eyes to the woman, her dark eyes watching her intently. 

“I’m just having a bad day, and would very much like for it to be over,” She said, turning back to the filing cabinet to grab another file. 

“What’s going on?” She asked. 

“Nothing, I don’t want to talk about it,” Pansy shook her head. The pain behind her eyes was building to a crescendo 

“Well, this might cheer you up, a new healer has just joined the Dai Llewellyn ward,” The brunette enthused. She grinned with mischief. “And he’s well…” She nodded enthusiastically. 

“You are not setting me up with another healer!”

“But why not?” She asked innocently. “You all work strange hours, share a dark sense of humour and have loads to talk about,”

“Mills, please. When you set me up with Paul, all we did was talk shop-all night. Hearing about Burrowbugs and earworms, strangely evapourates any amorous intentions, even if I could chop up potion ingredients on his stomach!”

“Poor Paul, I was sure you’d get on really well,”

“No, Mills, I’m not going through that again!

“Healer Proctor?” A voice called from the door of the ward. Pansy turned around. 

“Yes?” She snapped, looking around impatiently. If she had anyone else in here that had splinched themselves whilst drunk, she’d slice them to pieces herself. 

“I…I have a delivery for you…” the orderly stammered, his eyes wide in fear. 

“A delivery?” she frowned, turning her full attention the man in front of her. 

“Flowers. For you, Healer Proctor,” he explained, handing over a large bouquet that had been hidden previously by the door. 

They were a beautiful bouquet. However, Pansy had never been fond of roses, their smell always seemed too artificial. Also, everyone got roses, it was hardly original. 

“Thank you,” She said absently as she looked at the flowers, not noticing the man virtually run from the ward. 

“You should have said you had a beau, I wouldn’t have invited Owens down,”

“Who?” She said distracted, a frown tugging at her lips. 

“Owens? The new Healer on Dai Llewellyn?” Millicent explained with a shake of her dark curls. “Now come on! Who’s sending you flowers?” she gushed as she reached for the card. 

Pansy snatched it away before she could reach. The red card with the golden filigree brought back unpleasant memories as she opened it. She let out a sigh of relief and then frustration as she read the card.

***Pansy, I can’t stop thinking about you. Please have dinner with me, RW***

With a shake of her head, she rolled her eyes and passed the note to her friend. 

“RW? Is that who I think it is?” Her friend asked, the smile dropping from her face. 

“The very same,” Pansy said, admiring the flowers. The thought was touching but… There were too many roses. It summed up everything about their relationship. Ron was in love with being in love with her. He never seemed to see her. 

Pansy frowned. She would have been more impressed had he remembered what her favourite flowers were. 

“I thought you were shot of him?” Millicent asked reading and rereading the card. 

“I bumped into him, and it looks like I’ve stirred things up again.” She looked around the room for somewhere to keep them, not that she wanted them. 

“What are you going to do?”

“Well, I’m not that hungry,” She smirked, and Millie laughed, bumping into her shoulder in a playful gesture as they both laughed. 

“I meant the flowers,”

Pansy looked at them again and grinned. 

“I’m going to donate them to someone who will be able to appreciate them,” She nodded with determination as she rushed out of the ward.


	13. Sweet Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut Ahead...

Teeth buried themselves into her neck as long sandy hair fell across her skin. She gasped with need as the scent of autumn leaves, and cinnamon engulfed her, the underlying scent of him holding her in place. He growled into her skin, careful only to bruise and not bleed her. Her breath came in ragged pants, she needed this, needed him, wanted him to take her. he ground into her behind, teasing her as his hardness rubbed against her eagerly. Whimpering, she pushed back, anything to gain friction. She cried out as strong hands threaded through her hair, pulling her head back against him. Baring her throat. If he wanted to kill her, now would be the time. 

The teeth released her as he reared back leaving a cold throbbing ache at her neck, she wanted more. She opened her mouth to beg when he plunged into her, forcing the air from her lungs. The pleasure mingled with the pain as he pushed deeply, grunting in satisfaction. Slowly he slid out again, causing her to whimper at the loss of him before he thurst in again, filling her. with small movements he moved back and forth, stroking her most sensitive spot. 

A heavy breath left her as he built a steady rhythm, pounding against her rump with a satisfying slap that only seemed to add to her arousal. His balls bounced against her, striking her clit with every drive, edging her ever closer. A strong hand gripped her hip, claws digging into her flesh as the other pulled her hair again, forcing her up and baring her breasts to the air. 

A clawed hand rose to her breast and squeezed, as his other arm held her, strapping her to his firm chest. Her head was pulled to the side as she glanced back. Eyes the colour of a summer forest met hers, like honey and pine needles. Meeting her gaze, he bit her shoulder marking her as his own, pushing her ever closer to that shining moment. He grunted urgently before suddenly she was rolled over. 

She pulled him back to her, his black hair spilling into her fingers. This angle was better, as his hands cupped her hips, pulling her closer. His striking dark blue eyes stared down at her as he smirked dangerously. Her eyes fell shut as he focused his movements, just rubbing against her, stoking the fire burning in her blood. He lowered his head to her breast and bit down, digging teeth into her sensitive flesh before a tongue swiped against the taut nipple. Arching her back with surprise and sensation, she cried out, arms waving around desperately. Grasping for something to grab onto, something to save herself from the fall. 

She was so close, teetering on the edge, both eager and afraid to fall off. A thick, hot tongue swiped at her sensitive nipple again, launching her off and over the edge. Pansy fell, crying and shaking into oblivion as he rode her, thrusting into her before grunting his own release.

Laying breathless, boneless and relaxed, she opened her eyes, meeting bright blue eyes with her own. The familiar eyes smirking down at her, a knowing glint in their depths. She smiled back before plunging her fingers into the coppery hair, pulling Ron in for a kiss as he collapsed on top of her. He pulled back and grinned, his eyes flashing eagerly. 

“Missed you Pans! Soon…” he said as he stroked her stomach knowingly, “I won’t have to miss you any more, we’ll be together forever.” Realisation dawned as he stroked the roundness of her stomach. Fear burst through her, thrusting him off as she crawled backwards and away. 

She was alone… 

~~~

Rubbing at her stomach absently, Pansy tried in vain to concentrate on the patient’s file in front of her. She scowled at the page as her thoughts returned to the dream. She rubbed at her neck and shivered, still feeling the feel of his teeth in her flesh. As dreams went, it had been a good one. However, dreaming of Neville brought forth uncomfortable notions and even more difficult questions to her mind that she wasn’t inclined to answer even to herself. 

She cupped her stomach again thinking of Ron’s eager gaze. Terror flashed across her skin, and she shivered, raising the hairs on the back of her neck. Ron had never said anything about having children or shown even the slightest interest in becoming a father, but she couldn’t shake the connection. Damn Weasley’s and their super fertility, even his older brother, Percy had two children already, and they had only been married three years. She pondered for a moment what life could hold for her as Mrs Pansy Weasley…

“A Knut for your thoughts,” A voice asked from her right shoulder. She jumped scattering the pages from her desk and knocking the inkwell. 

“Shit,” She uttered stumbling away from the noise. 

“Woah, Sorry,” Came the voice. The accent was middle-American and male. She looked up and came face to face with dark blue eyes that had recently been doing terrible things to her insides. She straightened up and turned around as she tried to gather herself. This couldn’t be happening. 

She heard him collecting the sheets from off the floor, and a slurping noise indicated that he was cleaning up the ink with his wand too. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath before turning around. “Hey, look. Sorry, I scared you,” He offered, his face concerned but friendly. She swallowed, remembering the look in his eyes in her dream. “I’m Healer Owens, friends call me Mitch,” He said, with a smile, straight white teeth peeking out from behind his plump lips. 

He offered his hand to her, and she took it just out of politeness. “Healer Proctor, I presume?” He asked his dark eyebrows rising in curiosity. 

She nodded, still breathless at the sudden shock. “Ms Bulstrode didn’t tell me that you were so quiet,” he teased. “Quite the opposite, in fact,”

“Don’t believe everything you hear,” She breathed, studying him carefully. 

“She speaks,”

“When I want to,” She muttered, 

“I really am sorry, are you alright?” His face seemed so disarming she almost wanted to smile and nod. 

“I’ll be fine,” She muttered again. 

He rolled his lips against his tongue as he studied her. “You’re a strange duck,”

“I am not a duck, nor am I strange. I am tired and irritated, Please leave,” 

He chuckled unabashed and looked down as if contemplating something. 

“Can we start again? I’m Mitchell Owens, I was a Pukwudgie at Ilvermorney school of witchcraft and wizardry. I trained for six years at the Bellazine Buchanan medical institute before transferring here. I like rainy afternoons, Chocolate fudge cake and Soccer” He offered his hand out with a shy smile, raising his dark eyebrows in the form of a silent question.

She looked at it for a moment and sighed. Taking it again, she shook it, his hand feeling firm and warm in her own. 

“Nice to meet you,” She smiled back tightly. Owens waited patiently for several heartbeats, a smirk growing on his lips. 

“Aren’t you going to tell me about yourself?” He asked as he took his hand back before pushing it through his short dark hair. 

“Nope,” She said with a smirk, before returning her eyes to her work.

“Then I will just have to return again tomorrow to find out more. Can I at least take your name?” He asked. 

She paused for a moment, the false name tripping up on her tongue. “It’s Pansy, Pansy Proctor,” She said looked back at him. 

“Well, Pansy, Healer Pansy Proctor, I will see you around. I will clearly announce myself next time,”

“That would be a blessing,” She nodded. 

“Until tomorrow then,” He said as he pushed through the doors. 

“Hold those doors!” an urgent voice shouted. Owens looked up, his face setting into the professional lines of a doctor on duty. He held the door and stepped out of the way. Two mediwitches levitated the lifeless body of an old woman in. Pansy stood, wand ready to start observations and treatment when she froze. 

“Augusta?” She asked. Her heart stopping as the name slipped off her tongue. 

“You know her?” Owens asked. Pansy nodded before turning to the Mediwitch. 

“What, in Salazar’s name, happened?” 

“Healer Proctor! Treat the patient first, questions can wait for now,” Healer Sloane announced as he rushed in behind the last mediwitch, “Now, let's get her comfortable, shall we?”


	14. Secrets

After what felt like hours and a multitude of spells later, between the three of them they had her stable and of the stasis charm, she was comfortable, albeit still not conscious. A large angry welt was appearing on her head swelling parts of her face. 

Pansy stood chewing on her thumbnail as she stared at the usually stern woman. She looked so frail and small in the hospital bed, it was a shame that there was no one here to provide any comfort to her, not that she needed it. Pansy had been incredibly relieved to find no sign of an animal attack, and sent a silent prayer up to any deities listening, thanking them for that one small blessing. 

“Does she have any family?” Owens asked quietly. Stood just behind her she wasn’t able to see his face, but he sounded only as affected by the sight of her as she was. 

“Her son and daughter-in-law are in the Janus Thickey ward, and her grandson… wasn't at home,” Sloane replied, glancing at Pansy and catching her eye. She blinked and turned away. She knew that Messrs Ichabod and Chorley would never have been called if Neville hadn't contacted them and she certainly hadn't sensed any accident alarm wards when she’d been there before.

“So, what do you think happened? To her face, I mean,” The American asked motioning to her face with his elbow as he pushed his hands into his pockets. “Looks like she hit her head pretty bad,”

“We found her at the bottom of the stairs. It looks like she fell, did you notice the mass?” Sloane asked, looking at Pansy again, using this as a lesson. She nodded.

“Suspected stroke causing her to fall?” She asked numbly.

Sloane nodded, she felt a slither of relief before concern darkened her mood again. If she was here, then there was no one with Neville, stopping him from doing something stupid.

“If you’ll both excuse me, I need to see to something,” she said with a nod before leaving the room. The two men nodded as they watched her go. She felt their eyes on her back as she escaped.

Panic rushed through her veins, stealing her breath as she thought about him alone in that house, not knowing if his gran was alive or dead. Pansy grabbed the nearest piece of paper and quill, scribbling a quick note before rushing to the roof.

The pigeon coop loomed in the darkness. The hospital had learned long ago that owls carrying messages through the capital was too suspicious and so, relied upon London’s greatest animal. Seen as nothing but rats with wings to the Muggle commuters, they were the perfect messengers, ignored by the Muggle population, they could fly great distances and would always return home.

Pansy glanced at the scribbled note, making sure it was legible before rolling it up and sliding it into the ring around the bird's foot. Throwing the bird into the night sky, she watched as it disappeared quickly from sight. She muttered her message again, hoping the gods would hear this plea too.

Don't do anything stupid, Neville. Gran is stable. I’ll come over soon.

Turning back towards the door, she stopped as a figure loomed in the orange light. She felt trapped suddenly, there was no other way off the roof. The figure stepped forward, and Healer Owens came into view. She let out a breath, not sure what she had been expecting.

“Thought I’d find you out here, You okay?” He asked, moving closer. She nodded holding herself against the cool air, the adrenaline jacket having worn off already.

“I'm fine,” she said easily, she almost sounded like she believed it too.

“No, you’re not. You’re freaking out. People say I have this uncanny ability, like Legillamens. I know things about people,”

She was sure he meant it kindly, but she shivered, the hair on her back prickling. She lowered her eyes from his for a moment as she schooled her thoughts. She had never been as proficient as Draco at Occlumency, but she knew enough to shield at least a little. She rose her eyes to his face, focusing on his lips as he spoke. 

“I’m fine,” she repeated, and she moved to step around him. 

“Pansy, wait,” She paused for a moment, not looking at him but feeling hyper-aware. 

“I need to get back to work,” 

“I wondered whether you would remember me,” he snorted “I guess we know the answer now,”

“What?” She asked, her mind reeling. “Remember you?”

“You were pretty young,” Pansy saw the slight lift of his shoulders. “and always so surly in those pick frilly dresses your mother made you wear,” He laughed at her now. 

She narrowed her eyes at him, almost forgetting to lower her eyes from his. 

“The things I remember, the secrets…” She felt fear wash through her at his words. Blinking as she calmed her mind again, she turned and jogged towards the stairs wanting to be around other people. No one knew she was up on the roof. 

“Pansy!” He called after her, but she ran. Ran from the man with the dark blue eyes who haunted her dreams, and from the secrets he held.

~~~

She stepped into the green flames and was whisked away through the floo. Feigning illness, she finished her shift, scared about running into Healer Owens again or about what could be happening at Longbottom house without her or Augusta there to supervise. 

Stepping out of the fireplace, she expected to find the cosy but sparsely decorated living room. What she stepped into was a disaster zone. Glass shards in the carpet glinted in the fading light from the green flames behind her. The glass cabinet lay in splinters as the foot of where the grandfather clock stood.   
It was so much to take in, and it took a moment before she noticed the blood on the wall. Her heart stopped at the bloody handprint. It couldn’t be as bad as she thought it was. Refusing to let the fear take over, she pressed on. She moved through the house following the trail of destruction and blood. Knowing he hadn’t attacked August as an animal was a blessing. However, she was starting to wonder how much of this damage was from before and how much was after. She swallowed, her ears straining against the silence. 

“Neville?” She called out, stepping carefully towards the kitchen where the destruction seemed its worst. Pausing at the door, she marvelled at the sheer chaos. Werewolves were strong, Everyone knew that, but this was something that had to be seen to be believed. The kitchen cabinets had been cleaved from the wall and shredded. Glass lay in this room too as the door and window frames sat crooked and empty. She shivered in the night air as it rushed around her, as though highlighting the damage. 

“Neville?” She called again, She heard something scuffle in his room. Stepping carefully around the cupboards she closed in. raising her hand, her fingertips made contact with the wood of the door and pushed. It creaked unevenly on its hinge as it opened. 

“Stay away,” a small voice came from a huddled form in the corner. “I’m dangerous!”

She pressed ahead, seeing his clothes and skin smears with browning blood. 

“Shush,” She said, as she lowered herself next to her, “Let me look at you,” 

“Please, I’ll hurt you too,” He said huddling.

“No, you won't,” she soothed as she reached out to touch his arm. He jumped back as though her touch was painful. 

“Don’t! Please! I’m dangerous,”

“Neville, Please. Let me help you,” She pleaded. 

“No one can help me, just go and leave me alone,” She stared at the brave, strong man that huddled in a ball afraid of his own shadow. It was time she found her own Gryffindor courage, he needed her now more than ever.


	15. Blackmail

Long, silent moments passed in the darkened room as she watched him, so close and yet so distant. How, in Salazar’s name, did she bridge the gap between them? How did Reaching out her hand again, she hovered over his wrist before touching him again. He cried out in pain, making her jerk back in surprise. He cupped his fist to his chest, raising red-rimmed eyes at her. She maintained eye contact with him as he tried to hide behind his long, scraggly hair. 

“You’re hurt, let me fix it,” She said firmly but calmly. It was the voice she used on all her difficult patients. 

“No, don’t touch me!”

She sighed, lowering herself until she was sat crosslegged on the floor. 

“I’m not leaving any time soon, and I promise I can match your stubbornness blow for blow.” She sighed, watching his eyes look away before looking back. Honey and pine needles, she thought as she locked gaze with him. “Please, Longbottom. It’s not been a great day for me either,

“Then go home, I don’t need you here. I didn’t ask you to come back…” He almost whispered before turning away. 

“Don’t make me repeat myself. I find it odious and irksome.” Rolling her eye’s, she shook her head. “I saw the blood, and I know it wasn’t your grans.” She said, trying a different approach. His face shot around to face her at the mention of the matriarch. 

“Gran? Is she alright?”

“She’s stable,” she offered, 

“Thank Merlin! So, she’s not dead?” he muttered, she almost didn’t catch it. 

“No, She’s still alive, want to tell me what happened?” She asked. 

“No. When will she be back?”

“I don’t know,” He frowned harder, his eyes darkening in his thinning face. 

“Why?” He asked, 

“Why what?” 

“Why don’t you know?” He asked, holding his legs tightly to his chin, 

“Unless I know what happened, I can’t help her,” 

“You already know what happened. I attacked her, and now she’s in hospital.“ he muttered glumly. “Please, I need to know she’ll be alright?” He turned those autumnal eyes on her again.

“I don’t know that, actually, because you won’t talk to me,”

“You’re right, I won't,” He said gruffly. With a huff, she crossed her arms. “All our secrets going straight to the Prophet, or worse, the hospital.”

“Yes, because my already-popular Neville Longbottom themed column on page three is running out of juice,” She rubbed at her temples, trying to retain her temper. “How many articles in the past three weeks have you seen, Mr Longbottom?” She asked cooly. 

There was a pause, and she could see him trying to figure things out. Finally, he settled on a response. 

“I don’t read the paper,” She threw her hands up in exasperation. 

“Alright then, you probably haven’t noticed the hoards of paparazzi on your doorstep either? Or the bags of hate mail coming through the floor?” She took a deep breath, remembering her own brush with the press and pubic when she left school. 

“Gran dealt with that stuff,” he muttered, folding in on himself. “Just leave me alone,” 

“Neville Gryffindor, Snake-slayer, Carrow-curser, Herbologer Longbottom!” She said, drawing on all her knowledge of him, “You are twenty-two years old. Stop acting like a helpless baby!”

Maybe teasing him into a reaction was the best way to move things along, that she could do easily.

“I’m not a baby,” he protested.

“You must be. Look at you? Crying yourself to sleep, lying in your own filth, sulking.” She said with a shake of her head. “Only babies throw tantrums,”

“I am not a baby,” He growled. 

“Do I need to swaddle you? Sing you a lullaby?” She teased further, watching as the energy rose around him, bringing him back to life. She would be lying if it didn’t do things to her after that dream. 

“I don’t need your help!”

“Not even to change your nappy? Feed you? Wipe your arse?”

He launched at her knocking her backwards with a squeak. He hovered over her, staring into her face, his brow furrowed into anger and confusion as his gaze trailed across her features. 

“I. Am. Not. A. Baby.” He growled through clenched teeth. 

“Good, because I’m not your mother!” She spat back. Pain flashed across his face as he reeled back. She cursed and cringed at the spiteful comment, she certainly hadn’t meant to insult his mother at all. 

Well, she had come this far, no sense tiptoeing the rest. “So prove it, Longbottom! Show me how grown-up you are,” she dared. His physical closeness knotted her insides, and she couldn’t explain why. He was in desperate need of a shower, but still, she wanted him. 

As though seeing the look in her eye, he slowly pulled back, gasping as he put weight on his wrist. “Look, I’ll make a deal with you, for every wound you let me treat, I’ll tell you something else about your Gran,” she offered.

He straightened with suspicion at the suggestion. “That’s blackmail!” He said, finally avoiding her eyes.

“Absolutely. You already think the worst of me, may as well keep up appearances...” she tried a smile, but he looked away. Time ticked by as she waited for his response. Slowly he held out his swollen hand to her, letting her hold his skin.   
She wanted to hiss. His skin was cold and damp to the touch, but the wound pulsed with heat, the knuckles swollen and red. She tried feeling the bones, gently kneading the skin with her thumbs and just as she suspected, it was indeed broken. She bit her lips in concentration as she pulled out her wand. 

“Is she really alright?” He whispered between grunts of discomfort. She nodded her head. 

“She’s as comfortable as we can, make her. But she’s in a coma while her brain fixes itself,” She explained distantly as she focused on the individual bones, each needing to be fixed separately. “Bloody hell, Longbottom. Did you have to break all 27 bones in here? Use your bloody face next time!” She swore, and he snorted. She glanced up at him, with a smirk and caught his eyes and the ghost of a smile on his face. Her smile grew, knowing that she had cheered him at least a little.   
She could feel his eyes on her as she concentrated. A blush appeared on her cheeks as she struggled to concentrate, so she closed her eyes, focusing on the feeling of his hands. Once done. She opened her eyes again and caught sight on his intent stare. She looked away awkwardly before gathering her strength for the next battle. 

“Now where else are you hurt?”

He cleared his throat and shook his head with a wince,

“Nice try! You actually did use your face, didn’t you?” she chuckled. 

“Not my face, no,” He offered weakly. 

“Come here,” She ordered as she rose, kneeling up so that she could look down onto the crown of his head. A large and bloody gash was visible. She gently probed the wound, finding shards of glass in the injury. It was about the moment she was finishing the cleaning of the injury, her wand running the length of the gash, that she realised that his head was pressed against her chest, resting warmly as she worked. She smiled, feeling her heartbeat thump loudly with a thrill. 

“So how come you’ve had a bad day?” He asked quietly, the vibrations of his voice travelling through her ribcage. 

She froze, unsure what to tell him. He looked up at her, looking like a kicked crup. The red letter flashed in her mind. She was being watched, even here away from so may eyes. She looked down at him and let out a breath. It concerned him too, she reasoned. 

“A run-in with a colleague at work, that’s all.” She said, before averting her eyes again. Pulling away from him reluctantly, she started to check his skin, there were other fine slivers which she was able to heal with a careful swipe of her wand. He shivered as she ran the tip of her wand across his skin, closing his eyes as goosebumps broke out across his skin. 

“Anywhere else?” She asked, her voice lower than she had intended. His eyes opened and looked at her, first the left then the right before looking away. He shook his head. 

“How long do you think my Gran will be gone?” He asked. 

“Long enough for us to tide the house. Now I insist you go and have a bath,” She pulled away out of reach before standing and pointing to the door. “When you’re done, we’ll clean up this mess, and I’ll sort us out some food.”

“Yes Ma’am,” he said that ghost of a smile on his crooked lips as he stood up in front of her.


	16. Control

Pansy glanced up at the ceiling as she heard the water turn on. With the roar of water and the creak of floorboards, she assumed he had stepped into the shower. Her mind wandered for a moment as she imagined suds rolling down tanned skin.   
Large, strong, hands rubbing and massaging muscles and flesh She belatedly fought the images of him stepping beneath the stream of water, it running down his naked body, but not soon enough. A blush blazed onto her face as her belly rolled in excitement at the thought. Closing her eyes, she remembered the dream. She licked her lips, savouring the memory. 

“Stop it, you’re being ridiculous!” she muttered to herself as she swished her wand around to reassemble the kitchen. There would be some things that would never be the same. The dining table’s solid oak top would forever have a scar running along its length. 

Once the room was as close as possible to how it had been before she rooted around in the pantry for some food. She felt her stomach growl uncomfortably as she looked at the shelves, trying to recall when she had last eaten. She’d skipped breakfast, that cursed dream had left her feeling queasy and unsettled. 

Standing akimbo in the doorway, she surveyed the shelves feeling uncomfortably out of her depth. Not only were their shelves virtually bare, but the ingredients were also mostly fresh, nothing from a packet. She frowned. Cooking was still a skill where she was woefully under practised. 

Cooking had always been something done by the elves. Before she left home, she had never had to consider dinner, it had been there at the table without a word. Now that she was fending for herself, there were so many packeted foods that could be cooked quickly without much preparation. 

“So? What’s for dinner?” A voice asked from behind her ear. 

“Shit!” She cried, whirling around, her heart thudding in her ears as she aimed her wand at the threat. Neville stood his face open in surprise, his eyes wide. In a blink, she saw his expression turn from shocked to hurt by her reaction. She swore again under her breath as she gathered herself. 

“Sorry,” He muttered as he halfheartedly rubbed at his hair with the towel.

Her eyes lingered on the droplets of water clinging to his collarbone as this wet hair soaked into the pale blue shirt he donned. She swallowed as she attempted to find her voice again. 

“Salazar Slytherin and all his slutty sons! What is it with men and creeping up on me today?” She shook her head, trying to pass it off as a joke. The hurt seemed to intensify for a moment before he looked away. 

“Men?” He asked it sounded innocent enough, but there was an undercurrent in his voice that suggested that there was more to the question. 

“Not like that, thank you very much!” She said, taking offence at what she determined was the meaning behind the comment. 

“I’m sure it isn’t,” He sounded bitter, like a boyfriend talking about a potential threat. 

“Not that it’s any of your business, Longbottom, but it has been a challenging few weeks,” She replied defensively with a shake of her head as her pulse calmed to a more natural beat. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she tried to fight the rising heat to her cheeks. 

“Right…” he nodded, his eyes lingering on her for a long moment before they darted uncertainly back to the shelves. “So, what’s for dinner?”

She bit her lip as she looked back at the shelves, hoping that this glance would be more illuminating than the last one. “Take away?” she offered with a wry smile. “I’m not sure what our options are unless you like red onions and mushrooms. 

What about…” he started but stopped, looking hesitantly at her again. He was about to say something when her stomach growled loudly. Heat blasted her face as she clutched her stomach, in surprise and horror. He looked at her, and that ghostly smile appeared again. “Spaghetti Bolognese?” he asked.

“Why? Can you cook?”

“A few dishes, probably not up to your standards though,” He muttered again. 

“What do you mean, my standard?” She asked, her hackles rising slightly. 

“I just meant that you’re probably used to house-elf food or dining out,” He offered blandly. Eyeing him suspiciously, she couldn’t quite tell whether he was sincere or not. However, it was Longbottom, so he probably was. She let the matter drop. As though knowing that she had let it go, he carried on. “Will Spaghetti Bolognese be to madam’s liking?” that allusive smile appeared again, and she wondered whether she had him all wrong. 

“Sounds amazing, Longbottom. However, it may have escaped your notice, but it appears you’re gran needed to go shopping.” She said as she pointed to the shelves with her wand trying to hide her burning face.

“We’ll be alright. Looks like we have everything we need here already,” He said; brushing passed her through the narrow doorway, the scent of mist and soap clinging to him. She inhaled subtly, pinning herself to the doorframe to stop from doing anything embarrassing.

Neville grabbed the food from the shelves, tiptoeing to reach the higher items, his wand forgotten and unused jutting out of his back pocket. Watching eagerly, she gazed on as the shirt rode up his back, exposing tanned but scarred skin. She must have made a noise as he lowered himself down, shyly tugging at the hem of his shirt before meeting her gaze. Pulling his wand out of his pocket, he gave it a quick swish, levitating the spaghetti into the air. 

His face looked angry now as though daring her to say something to him. She wasn’t sure she could keep up with this new, changeable Neville. 

“Do you want tea?” She offered, throwing him slightly. He nodded slowly before moving to follow her back into the kitchen. 

She watched him under her eyelashes as he started to make dinner. What she would give to have some of Randi’s Shipsinker tea here. That tea was the main reason why most Slytherin’s drank coffee. The bags carried crystalised veritaserum, which meant that the drinker would be none the wiser that their tea had been spiked until it was too late, even if they had prepared the beverage themselves. 

The secrets she would uncover from him. Not that she would use it. This tentative trust they had building between them could be shattered completely by the smallest provocation. Watching him move around the kitchen was entertainment enough, between knocking things over and hitching up his baggy trousers, he was all fingers and thumbs as he collected the ingredients together. 

“So, do you cook often?” She asked, trying to keep any hint of mocking out of her voice, as entertaining as it was watching him, she knew with absolute certainty that she wasn’t able to do better.   
He looked at her for a moment as though trying to see if he was missing any hidden meaning. After a moment, he shook his head before returning his eyes back to the saucepan. 

“I used to do bits here and there, but no, not very often these days.”

She paused, weighing up her next question before plunging ahead. “So, Who bit you?”

He stopped stirring, his shoulders hunching together. Pansy watched as he almost collapsed in on himself. 

“It doesn’t matter,” he replied quietly, stirring the sauce firmer now. 

“What happened?” she tried again, softer this time. Stepping closer to put her hand on his elbow. He stilled again his eyes glancing down to her hand. 

“Don’t touch me,” He whispered. It didn’t sound like a threat, so she didn’t move. 

“Why?” 

“My control isn’t great,”

“Control over what?” She asked, wanting to understand. 

“This...” He said, turning to her and pressing his lips to hers as he trapped her between himself and the work surface.


	17. Fooling No-one

The water smoothed over his shoulders and chest, washing away the dirt and grime he had failed to remove. He had neglected a lot of things since school. Being clean and presentable seemed irrelevant when you were an animal who didn’t venture outside anymore. Even his Gran had given up chiding him into anything, faced with the same wall of anger. But, as he scrubbed at his skin, turning his olive flesh pink in a bid to be rid of the dirt, he considered how he must look through her eyes. Filthy, smelly, hideous, pathetic. A jolt of shame and embarrassment hastened his movements so that he could be as presentable as possible. For her. The words hung unthought, but weighty in his mind, and he knew that’s what he felt. 

He heard movement downstairs, spiking his pulse as a thrill of excitement flushed his skin. Pansy was in his house, so close he could touch her. He turned to glance at the door, half hoping-half fearing that she would push in on him, pressing her back into the closed door before stripping out of her lime green scrubs and joining him in the shower. He closed his eyes with longing as he buried the stumps of his bitten fingernails into his palms, hoping the pain would chase away these useless thoughts. 

He snorted. As if she could ever be interested in him. Even before his current cruel circumstances, She was a rich and powerful pureblood. Engaged in the whims and fashions of society whilst being courted by the crème de la crème of the wizarding upper classes. Being wined and dined by handsome foreign warlocks, not holed up in a tired, run-down cottage in the middle of nowhere with some half-crazed hideous beast. He thought about punching the wall again as his self-loathing boiled over. It would be worth the pain to let her touch and smile at him again 

Watching her work was mesmerizing, how she bit her lip as she studied the injury. Neville couldn’t help staring at the lines on her face as they deepened while she tried to concentrate. His mind wandered, imagining what her face would look like as he took her, as he had done so many times in his dreams, especially of late. He wondered whether she would sound and feel the way he imagined she would, growling in frustration as his cock stiffened. Ignoring it, he hoped the hardness would go away. 

He pushed his head under the stream, washing the suds from his head. Even here, beneath the water, surrounded in suds and soap, he could smell her, like she had permanently lodged in his brain. His skin screamed to feel her touch. Holding her hand while she checked him for wounds had been both painful and perfect as her hot, soft skin pressed against his own. He wanted more, like an addict. 

He turned the water off, feeling slightly more human in body, but more animal in mind as his thoughts followed the curve of her hips or the rise of her chest as it pulled against the material of her shirt. He tried to fight it, as he grabbed the first clothes that his hands touched. He pulled on the trousers, noting just how loose they were on him now. He frowned. He didn’t think he had lost that much weight, but it wasn’t like anyone had spelt his trousers larger. It wasn’t the Gryffindor dorms anymore, he thought sadly. He glanced into the mirror and had to look away. 

There had been a reason he had stopped looking. He looked like a walking skeleton, as he looked at his ribs, the fine white scarring of a small set of teeth buried just above his heart caught the light. He hurriedly looked away, not wishing to dwell on what might have been. He pulled on the shirt and started to thread his arms through it as he moved down the stairs. It was only as the air hit his waist that he realised just how tall he had grown. He tugged at it self-consciously as he entered the kitchen. 

He paused, fear flashing through him when he couldn’t see her. Had she left him again? He moved forward, his wet hair cooling in the air. Lime green caught his eye in the larder, and he almost barked with relief. He swept his eyes up, noting how her heart-shaped bottom looked straining against the material. He needed her so badly. 

“So? What’s for dinner?” He whispered, the overwhelming urge to be close to her battling his self-preserving need to put distance between them. Her scent filled his nostrils, making it hard to think about anything else. She had come back, for him. She hadn’t been summoned, nor had she come to collect her forgotten coat-a fact which he was most appreciative of as it lay folded beneath his pillow. A glimmer of hope hummed somewhere deep in his chest, and the wolf within sniffed at it with interest. 

She cursed loudly before spinning around, pointing her wand at him, fear widening her eyes. Disappointment doused the hope before it could catch. It was like every nightmare he’d had since being bitten, people turning on him and treating him like a threat.

He apologised, rubbing at his hair, hoping to hide the hurt, but she watched him with rapt attention, her eyes wide and dazed, not scared though. A wave of scent rolled off her, and he stiffened, now smelling hot cherries and chilli-A hot spicy infusion to her already intoxicating aroma. His body knew what it meant, even if he didn't. 

Her voice floated through the haze of desire, her mention of men bringing him back with painful clarity. “Men?” He asked. Of course, there were others. It’s not like she was supposed to be his. The wolf growled within him, baring its teeth at this violation of its territory. His human brain fought. She wasn't his, she never had been. 

Thoughts whirled around his mind as they talked. He had to change the subject the wolf was getting too agitated at the idea of other men’s scents being around her. “So, what’s for dinner?” he asked again. She blushed and bit her lip as she looked nervously between him and the shelves. There was a long pause before she answered. 

“Take away?” She asked wryly as she smiled at him.

Once dinner was arranged, the rest of the conversation seemed to dart here, there and everywhere, and his brain struggled to keep up as she stood so close. He wondered whether this was her strategy to gain information, keeping the other person pivoting on the back foot.

“What happened?” she asked quietly, moving into his headspace. She sounded so warm and concerned as a hand touched his elbow, hot, soft skin scalding against the cool flesh. He stilled in confusion and not wanting to startle her. The wolf stirred within him, feeling her touch 

“Don’t touch me,” He whispered. She was too close, her scent too much. His skin seemed to sizzle under her caress and his body screamed for more. 

“Why?” 

“My control isn’t great,” he replied. He could feel the wolf waking inside him, rubbing himself against his internals like a cage, straining to reach her. He trembled against the urge to grab her. 

“Control over what?” She asked, stepping closer. He closed his eyes, the last remains of his control ebbing away like a retreating tide.

“This...” He said, turning to her and pressing his lips to hers. He pushed her backwards, pinning her to the countertop, trapping his prey. Her lips tasted of cherry brandy or kirsch. Warm, bitter with a sweet aftertaste. It was a taste he was willing to get used to. However, as she stood there motionless in his arms and against his lips, he thought about pulling away. He waited for another second, unable to release her while the wolf inside him rubbed against her. 

As though waking from a dream, her lips moved. Neville expected a rebuke or a scream, telling him to remove himself. But when she kissed him back, his heart almost stopped. Raising his hands to her neck, holding her tenderly as he tried to claim her. 

She sighed into it, speeding up his heart as she bit his bottom lip. He growled against the sudden hint of pain, it stoking him on. Their mouths opened at the same time, their tongues crashing together, like waves as her hands pulled at his shirt, pulling him closer. 

He needed more, and before he knew what his hands were doing, he had lifted her up onto the counter, knocking everything to the floor as he pulled her closer, his hands on her hips.   
He felt drunk on her as she pushed her hands through his hair, gripping it tightly and raising goosebumps up his back. He let out a sigh of relief and pleasure as he worked his hands beneath her top. He waited for her to stop him, feeling drunk and dangerous in a whole new way. When she didn’t object, he continued. 

Expecting to meet lace or satin, he growled in satisfaction when his thumbs met only more flesh. The heavy, rounded softness of her breasts, heaving against him as he brushed against the skin. Her movements stuttered as he swiped a thumb across her nipple, raising it to a taut nub. Taking advantage of the momentary pause, he kissed her hard, capitalising on the reprieve as he massaged the tender points between his thumb and fingers. 

She sounded exactly as he had imagined, heavy panting and helpless sighs and moans as he made her quiver under his hands. He sucked on her bottom lip before swiping it with his tongue. She moaned blissfully and hissed. The hiss continued, longer than the length of a breath. He frowned, opening his eyes. She blinked at him, with confusion, as he pulled away and it was clear she wasn’t the one hissing. 

He moved his head to find the noise, and Pansy followed suite as though now only noticing the hiss. Finding the source of the noise, he swore as the saucepan where the boiling pasta had started to simmer over, flooding the stove. 

He tore away, rushing over to it before turning off the heat. He stood panting, his erection straining against even the baggy trousers. He turned to her shyly, expecting anger and outrage. But finding a dreamy smile on her lips as she straightened her scrubs top down again—her hardened nipples pressing against the thin lime material underneath.


	18. Crestfallen

Lightning threaded through her veins, and heat curled between her thighs as his lips touched hers. It had taken a second for her mind to catch up, but once it had, she handed herself over to it completely. They moved against each other like a complicated dance, anticipating where the other would be and their next move. When his hands paused at her hips, as though silently asking permission, she was more than eager to allow it. 

Her skin was on fire and drowning simultaneously, and he was both the accelerant and the life preserver. His lips sending icy lightning bolts through her system, as the tips of his thumbs found the underside of her breasts. She held her breath, silently praying or more, willing him to be bolder. She wasn’t disappointed as his thumb stroked higher, catching the delicate bundle of nerves. She relished the exhilarating rush as he teased her, plundering her lips and flooding her knickers. She couldn’t help but whimper as he pushed her further. It had been so long since anyone had played her so expertly. She was soaked and desperate, wanting so much more. 

He pulled away, catching her off guard. She blinked at him, her mind still fuzzy and lustful as she watched him frown. She looked around, wondering what he could be frowning at. It was then she heard the hissing. Neville rushed to the saucepan, turning the flame off to the pasta. She smirked as she straightened her hair, feeling drunk and cold. Her skin seemed to vibrate as though waiting for him to soothe her skin. He glanced at her, and she could see his brain work, the shame gathering like storm clouds in his eyes. She couldn’t let that happen, she wanted so much more, and if the storm came, it would be a washout.

“Well, Longbottom. If it’s going to be like that every time, you can lose control around me more often,” She smirked, touching her lips with her fingers, remembering where they had been. He looked confused and surprised. 

“You’re not going to hex my balls off?” He said quietly, that ghost smile floating on his lips. 

“I might if you don’t come back here and finish what you’ve started,” He frowned and she could see the battle going on behind his eyes. 

“But I’m not safe,” he muttered with another hesitant step forward. 

“I think that’s what I like,” She grinned before leaning forward to grab the front of his shirt. Staring into his wide eyes, she could almost see something shift behind them, a glimpse of the beast within. 

Fear should have been her first feeling but something about the amber in his shifting hazel eyes, awoke an animal within her. He looked down at her lips before she acted, pulling him closer. Using the shirt, the yanked him forwards crashing their lips together. His lips made her blood sing in her veins as he groaned somewhere low in his throat. Her sex tingled deliciously, stealing her breath as his hesitance melt away. Taking more control, his hands returned to her hips, gripping her bottom and pulling her closer. Her desperate need was momentarily stymied as her desperate clit collided with his hardness as he pressed against her, making her even more conscious of her growing wetness. Lowering her teeth into his lower lip she bit down gently, drawing another grunt from his throat. She cried out as he moved against her send jolts of electricity through her body.

Gripping her arse, he pulled her close, rubbing his hard shaft against her in an agonising long stroke. Breathing quickly, she dug her fingernails into his back as he tore away her reason-any reason to stop or hold back, with each nudge he brought her closer to bonelessness. She released his lips to take a shuddering breath, and he moved his face to nuzzle at her neck, his teeth gripping the skin. It was so similar to the dream that she cried out, clawing for more. One hand was suddenly in he hair pulling her head back while his other was fighting with the waistband on her scrubs. She freed her hands and helped him, eager to feel more of him. There was a tearing sound before she could get there, as a sudden breeze rushed against her thighs as she was beared to the air. She pulled at the shredded material before starting to work on his trousers.

She let out a snort of satisfaction as the baggy waistband slid off his narrow hips easily, pooling into a pile at his feet. He kicked them away as he pulled at her hair. She peered down as a keen heat flushed her face. Neville stood naked from the waist down, his swollen cock, firm and flushed. She licked her lips as she stared at the length and the swollen head. Already anticipating how that bulbous head would feel buried deep inside her. Her breath hitched as the feeling of need built. She looked up and met his eyes, they were almost completely golden now as they studied her hungrily, all the hesitation gone from his stance. There was another snap and she knew that her thong was now beyond repair, but staring into his hungry stare, she failed to care. He kept his eyes on her as his hand lowered to himself, gripping his length, pulling the skin back to expose his smooth and gleaming head, swollen and eager. She was sure her breathing stopped as he watched him play with himself. He hooked his right arm under her knee, tilting her pelvis and opening her wide for him. She swore to herself in disbelief, this was so hot. Who knew that Neville could be this god?

Stroking himself again, he pressed his head to her entrance, growling in appreciation as her wetness was revealed. She panted and gasped as he stroked the cluster of nerves, rolling his head around. She was just about to beg when he pressed his large head against her lips. Releasing himself, he used his hand to pull her forward, burying himself as his hand dug into her arse. Suddenly breathless, stretched open and filled from within, she shivered. His arm under her knee made sure that the sensitive spot deep within her made contact with his swollen head.

She wrapped her fingers around his shoulders in an attempt to pull him deeper, but he was in full control. He leant forward bringing them closer as they paused, panting Neville growled low, rubbing his face against hers in a surprisingly tender act, a move she had once seen mating wolves do. She copied before grabbing his hair holding him close as she caught her breath.

As though triggering a reaction, he started to move slowly at first making room inside her. Small gasps erupted from her as his movements sent fireworks coursing through her.  
“Fuck me,” She begged “Neville, please!” Without waiting for further encouragement he pulled out before thrusting back in. She cried out, throwing her head back. He did it again and again until she wanted to cry at the pressure building. The angle was perfect as his swollen head rubbed back and forwards against her. So much better than the dream could have promised.

Neville grunted as Pansy started to cry out. The heavy weight at her core seemed to get heavier as his rhythm continued slapping against her thighs and backside, she cried out again, begging him for more.

“Please, please,” She breathed as he pushed her closer and closer to the abyss. “Please, Neville! Don't stop,” With a tug on her hair she crested, her screams flowing out of her mouth, but the wave didn't stop as he continued to pound into her. Stars appeared behind her eyes as she was suddenly pulled off the counter. Gasping as her back slammed into the wall, him taking all of her weight as he used the wall to hold her still. The angle changed as he started to stutter. She watched him as his face began to crumble as his own release loomed. Watching him get off and the hammering of his hips sent her over again as her whole body twitched around him, tense and tight in her orgasm. He pulled her hair, but much harder than he had before. This hurt despite the endorphins running through her veins. She cried out as he pulled away painfully and found herself on the floor. Breathing heavily, she realised that they were no longer alone as six large men loomed over them. Neville snarled as he tried to pull away, but two of the men held him from behind.

”Thank Merlin, I got here in time!” one of the men breathed, the anger rolling off him in waves. She tried to back up as she was hauled to her feet. His hand rubbed at his face in exasperation, his bright red hair gleaming in the light of the kitchen. It seemed familiar as she tried to reassemble her wits.

”Ron?” she gasped, her heart and lungs still fighting to return to normal.

”Hey Pans,” He greeted tightly. “Tell me, do you sleep with all of your patients? Or only the dangerous one's?” His words were like a slap to the face. She found her anger rose quickly to the surface as she tried to bite back. “Shut up, I’ll deal with you later,”

Magic slapped her, sending her head backwards with the force, stealing her voice. Shit! Was the only thought she had as he turned to Neville.


	19. Twelve Months Earlier

“Come back here,” He growled sleepily from behind her. She smirked, sliding the stockings up her leg and feeling the silk against her skin. She ignored him for a moment in the dim light of the room. The muggle traffic could be heard rumbling along in the rainy city beyond the loft. It never seemed to bother him, in fact, it usually seemed to lull him to sleep. The bed dipped down suddenly under his weight as his arm rubbed along her bare waist. His chest felt feverish against her back as he kissed her naked shoulder in a bid to coax her back into bed. “Come on. I’ll make it worth your while.” He tried again. Shrugging against him, she pushed to stand, escaping his oppressive embrace. 

“I can’t. You know I have to be up for rounds,” She replied without sparing a glance behind her at the sulking man. She studied herself in the mirror as she hooked her bra up, sliding the straps up her shoulder. It wasn’t like she needed to wear one, she thought woefully. However, she liked the way it made her small chest look. 

“Why don’t you ever want to cuddle afterwards?” He asked. She ignored him as she pushed her feet into the holes of her discarded knickers before pulling them up her thighs. She wondered whether he would ever get the hint. This was only ever meant to be a business transaction between them—something to keep the loneliness at bay. Whenever one of them had an itch that needed scratching, they could meet up. Granted, she had been in need more often than normal in the last couple of months. That; however, didn’t mean the arrangements needed to alter. Cuddling certainly wasn’t a need she needed seeing to. “Pans? Are you even listening to me?”

“Of course, Ronald. And snakes don’t cuddle, unlike big, lazy cats,” She said studying herself in the mirror. It could be her imagination, but she was sure her stomach looked rounder than normal. She shrugged, that was probably down to the pizza he had ordered in.

“Mores the pitty,” He retorted as he stretched, as though proving the point. There was a quiet pause as she stepped into the dress that had dropped into a black halo on the floor. Shimmying the material up her legs, she smiled, knowing how tight it was. “I bought you something,” He said. 

She paused and closed her eyes with a cringe before turning around hesitantly to look at him. “Hey, don’t look at me like that. It didn’t cost much, I learned my lesson from last time.” He rolled his eyes. They were still bickering over the topic with no end in sight. 

A first edition Percivall Pott’s ‘ a treatise on spell damage and wand wounds 1756’ book, a diamond-encrusted ring and a signed copy of her favourite childhood book were, in her humble opinion, not presents to purchase for ones fuck-buddy. 

“I hope you took those things back?” She warned. He lay on his side, propped up on his elbow, smirking at her before looking down at his hands. “I mean it, Ronald! I won’t be bought.” She warned with a point of her painted fingernails, turning back to the mirror as she tried to do up the zip.

Ron chuckled as he climbed out of bed. He moved around to her, helping her with her zip before kissing her shoulder again. “I’m not trying to buy you, I just want you to have pretty things,” He said before moving to his wardrobe. She rolled her eyes as he padded naked around the room. If she hadn’t been drunk the first time, she wasn’t sure he would ever have gotten her into bed. However, she had been pleasantly surprised at his abilities if not always satisfied.

She watched as he fished a small box out of the wardrobe and her heart stilled. If that was an engagement ring, she was going to hex his bollocks off. He turned to her, still on bended knee and offered her the box. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” She asked, feeling sick.

Holding her breath, her life flashing before her eyes. She could see it now, Mrs Pansy Weasley. Arguing with her new mother-in-law about child-rearing, having to spend each and every Sunday surrounded by the noise and chaos that was the burrow. 

“Oh, shit, no.” He laughed, getting up off his knee. She let out a breath in a rush, resting her hand on the wall to steady herself. “But only because I knew you wouldn’t say yes yet…” She scowled at him, snatching the box from his outstretching hand. 

“Bloody Gryffindors,” She cursed as she opened up the box. Whatever was inside, she didn’t want it. It made her feel strange. All her life, she had been given and had bought the best, without considering the cost and without the bat of an eyelid. Often requiring the best of everything to feel satisfied. Since losing everything and coming to appreciate having nothing, having Weasley buy her things she couldn’t afford was a different kind of misfortune. 

The smug, naked Gryffindor sat on the bed unabashed as he watched her, his eyes glinting with amusement. She reluctantly opened the box, revealing the earings within. The emerald studs glinted in the dim light as she regarded them with hollow appreciation. 

They were the exact style that Pansy loved… before the war. Post-war Pansy, with purse strings so tight that chocolate seemed an extravagance, appraised them and wondered how many months rent they could afford her, or how much food she could fit in her cupboards. Shaking her head, words flitted through her mind as she fought with what to say. 

“If you were to wear them, what would they cost you?” she heard herself say. Except, she didn’t say it. She looked around, and Ron just smirked harder. “It would be the polite thing to do to put them on and see how they look,” her voice came again. She looked up and caught sight of her reflection, smiling back at her. She frowned unwilling to do as the mirror bid. 

“Everything alright?” Ron asked, getting out of the bed to walk over. 

“Is this a magic mirror?” She asked, looking for signs of magic on the non-existent frame. 

“It is, It’s a creed mirror. Although a conscience mirror is probably a better description. It should tell you right and wrong. Thought it was a good idea at the time. However, now I’m not so sure. They’ve got them at work.” He smirked as he slid his hands against her hips. She hadn’t appreciated just how tall he was as his chin brushed her ear.

“If you decided to keep them, you would be morally obligated to stay with him; otherwise, it’s just paying for sex.” The mirror said bluntly. Pansy blanched at the thought. 

“Can you hear what it's saying?” Pansy asked. 

“No, only you can,” Ron muttered as he started to kiss his way up from her shoulder, making her shiver as she stared at her reflection. 

“You need to tell him your decision about the earrings.” The mirror whispered, ensuring that his ministrations remained ignored. 

“I can’t accept these, Ron,” She muttered numbly. 

“Why not?”

“All these gifts, it’s like you’re paying for services rendered,” He stopped kissing her then his blue eyes meeting hers in the mirror. “I’m not a call girl or prostitute that needs to be paid,”

“So you would prefer to work for free?” He smirked, taking the rejection better than she had expected. 

“I’d prefer not to work for it at all. It’s meant to be fun, to fulfil a need. You are not paying me for sex, I won't hear it,”

“Fine, what if I told you the earrings were cheap knockoffs?” He asked, resting his head against hers, some strands on her hair getting caught in his short, ginger beard. 

“I know emeralds when I see them, and these are not paste imitations,”

“And if I said you never had to sleep with me again?” 

“That idea certainly holds some promise…” She turned to look him in the eye, avoiding his obvious nakedness. He raised an eyebrow and smirked, She had initiated the last half a dozen rendezvous when the need had outweighed reason. She refused to blush at the blatant disbelief on his face.

“Once you go red, you’ll crave my bed,” He laughed until she hit his arm. “Ok, ok. What if I said they were a present because I love you?” 

Pansy opened her mouth to say something but found her vocal cords reluctant. Love? How could he love her? All they did was fuck. 

“If you love him too, you should say it back,” the mirror whispered. 

“And what if I don’t feel the same?” She asked cautiously, not sure who would answer, the mirror or Ron. 

“Then I’ll be heartbroken, I’ll still love you, and they’ll still be yours.”

“But why?” She asked, her voice higher than she had intended. 

“Why what?”

“I can’t even say the word!” She said with disgust, 

“Love you?” 

She nodded, the earrings almost forgotten in her hand. He shrugged back, only now seeming awkward and shy to be naked. “What’s not to love?”

“That’s not an answer,” She whispered. 

“’Everything’ is though,”

“Not a good one.”

“I love you for your scepticism and cynicism,” he smiled, rubbing the back of his calf with his other foot. “Can I kiss you?”

“Eurgh, no! not until you’ve washed your mouth out!” She said with a smirk of her own, pushing him over onto the bed. Her mind whirled at this revelation as she placed the box on the side, undecided whether to take them. They were-after all, very lovely. 

“If you take them, you know he is all you’ll be able to think about when wearing them.” The mirror whispered. She agreed, “And if he loves you, continuing to sleep with him is not a good idea,” She nodded to herself too as she pulled her coat on. 

“Things aren’t going to get all weird, are they?” He asked, studying her face. 

“Why would things get weird?” She asked as she hooked her hair out from under the collar. She knew things wouldn’t ‘get all weird’ as she had no intention of meeting with him again. 

“Instincts,” He replied, quietly as she left him there alone.


	20. Charges

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A very special thank you to PitfallsOfPlottingPenguins for helping me with this chapter, and also for drafting up a complete version of "The Werewolf Registration Act 1947 (Imperial) I couldn't have written this without her,

The silence stretched on as she sat crosslegged in the straight-backed chair. She refused to entertain the cold air within the windowless room, regardless of what little clothing she wore, keeping the goosebumps away with her force of will. The auror sitting opposite was so fresh that he was green. She could practically still see the ink on his fingers from the final exam. Studying her nails, she tried to reclaim some of her old school habits, showing a mask of indifference. 

Flicking the hair away from her face, she almost pulled the cloak closer around her before remembering who it belonged to. If she hadn’t been half-naked, she would have refused it altogether. Remembering what happened, she clenched her teeth together at Ronalds’s nerve. How dare he? She chewed on the inside her lip, allowing that to be the only outward sign that she was less than happy. She felt the Aurors eyes on her and turned her eyes on him. 

She guessed he was younger than her and thought that she vaguely recognised him from school. He looked away as she glared at him, leaning back on his chair to glance at the mirror. Pansy knew that the mirror was magic within about five minutes into being there. Just like the one in Ron's room, this told her the moral implications of what he had done and what she could do. She ignored it, and after ten hours, it shut up. Sometimes she was left alone, other times, she had a chaperone. All the way through it she remained quiet, waiting for Ron to deal with her himself. 

She shut down the thought that niggled away inside her regarding the fate of Neville. She tried not to think about what they could be doing to him. As a suspected Werewolf, he had no rights to speak of. Ron wouldn’t be too severe, she was sure. They had been dorm mates and friends during all that time. 

The door to the room opened, resulting in the green auror standing to leave, throwing her naked legs a glance before exiting. Vowing that as soon as she got her wand back, she was going to hex him. She refused to look at the new presence in the room, concentrating on a spot on the far wall. From the way he breathed and the way he stood, she could practically feel the hostility radiate from him. 

Slowly he walked to the seat before her and lowered himself down, each and every move controlled and slow. She felt his pale blue eyes bore into her as she waited for him to speak. She refused to acknowledge him until he spoke first. An intentional powerplay, if he wanted to keep her waiting for fifteen hours, he could at least make the first move. She refused to beg to go home. 

“So, Miss Parkinson. Apologies for keeping you waiting,” he offered, and she could hear the strain in his voice. At least he was attempting to remain professional. Any other reaction would have resulted in the loss of his bollocks, wand or no.

“Proctor,” she shot, he never had got her name right.

“Yes, sorry. Miss Proctor,”

She remained still, staring into the distance. It was only through her training as a healer that kept her back straight after so long. Working long hours at random times meant fifteen-hour night shifts weren’t unusual.

“I assume you know why you’re here?” He asked deliberately, and she wondered what it would take for him to drop the bullshit façade.

“You would be incorrect in that assumption,” she muttered flatly.

“Then let me enlighten you,” there it was, a thread of consternation as he flicked through his papers. “The charges that you were brought here under are numerous and severe. Under the werewolf registration act 1947, section three, subsection two, it states “A person responsible for having a werewolf registered, including attending Healer must make the required registration within 28 days from the initial bite and subsequent lycanthropy infection. Failure to do so carries a mandatory sentence of 8 years imprisonment in Azkaban for any party with knowledge of the fact of the werewolf's lycanthropy and failure to register said Werewolf.” He paused and looked at her. She covered her mouth as a yawn tugged at her eyes. He frowned before clearing his throat and continuing. 

“There is also Section five, subsection three, An unregistered werewolf is deemed to be outside the control of both the Ministry and the law and may be apprehended by a member of Magical Law Enforcement and charged with infringements of this Act. If such infringements are proven, the unregistered werewolf may be subject to a period of imprisonment of up to 5 years and will be required to be registered under the Act. Any party found to be assisting a werewolf in evading registration and Ministry control may be subject to a fine of 800 Galleons and subjected to a period of imprisonment to be determined by the Court.” She pulled her hair back from her face distractedly unwilling to show any reaction to the charges as her brain raced to find a loophole. 

“In your personal situation Miss Park-Proctor,” He stumbled as he carried on, his voice growing thick with frustration. “You could be struck off the healers register and barred from practising healing.” he slammed the pages down, causing Pansy to blink at him- a sick sensation settled at the pit of her stomach as she comprehended spending a decade in that prison and never being able to practice healing again. ”Look, these are some serious charges, and you would not do well in Azkaban, It’s a hard life,”

Pansy looked down at her nails, refusing to acknowledge him. Her mind whirled, trying to find a way through the maze that trapped her. Self-preservation was a key trait of her house after all. “I may be able to pull some strings, but ill need your help.” He continued.

“I was thinking of painting my nails again, maybe claret or merlot. I just can’t decide, an impervious charm should stop it from chipping,” she said thoughtfully as she stared at her nails with interest.

“Damnit, Pansy!” He shouted, finally showing the crack in his professional demeanour “Don’t be an idiot! This is bloody serious! You’re in deep shit. I’m trying to help you,”

“Help me?” She snorted, not looking up from her fingers. “So after all the supposed magnificent changes Granger and Shacklebolt put into place, the esteemed Department of Magical Law Enforcement still treats people as guilty until proven innocent? Hauled in with my arse hanging out, left waiting for hours in the cold, to be threatened and scared into what? A confession?” she snorted and raised her eyebrow as her eyes finally met his. The blue looked almost lavender where the colour was tinged with the bloodshot veins. ”So, Auror Weasley? Am I here because I am guilty of something or because you caught me fucking your old school friend?” She asked, offering a sweet smile and a tilt of her head. 

Ron's eyes closed as though in pain at the mental image She had painted for him. His mouth twisted in distaste and she wondered whether he had been stupid enough to use Occlumnecy or a pensieve on Neville. “Screams of a jealous former lover, getting his jollies trying to ruin his ex’s life. I’m not sure any jury would convict me with that hanging over, even if I were guilty of the charges levelled against me.”  
“So you deny them?”

“I do, The first charge hinges on proof that I somehow knew that he was indeed a Werewolf, which I did not. I was called out to an Aconite poisoning and a potential suicide attempt,” She shrugged looking at him now with her best bored expression. “And the second charge can only be inforced if you can prove that Mr Longbottom is both a werewolf and that I knew about it. Also, I was not Mr Longbottom’s healer when we decided to become intimate, Mrs Longbottom fired me,”

“I could get a warrant for your memories,” He said defensively.

“Yes, you could. However, as that is not something currently in your possession, my right to privacy is still at least partially in place despite anything you may have extracted from my lover,” She watched the blood fill his face at her intentional choice of words before he shot up and turned around to pace, rubbing his short beard and pushing his hair back. She watched as the fiery-haired man seemed to come to a decision. He turned back to her again and pointed. 

“You cannot sleep with him again!” He warned. Pansy raised both eyebrows at this overbearing approach. 

“And why ever not, Father? I thoroughly enjoyed it the first time… that was until we were rudely interrupted…” She said before shooting a glare at him. 

“I’m not joking Pans. You were lucky that I got there in time to pull you apart!”

“And why exactly? Were you saving me from some epic post-coital cuddling? Or from some really awkward conversation afterwards, perhaps?”

“He’s a wolf, Pansy…” He let the words hang in the air as though the meaning would become clear. 

“That’s not been proven,” She retorted “But call me intrigued. What if you had not saved me from that savage beast?” her words dripping with sarcasm.

“Werewolves, just like other canids, have bulbus glands…” He said, closing his eyes. 

“Bulbus glands?” She asked flatly.

“Upon climax, they swell, binding the mating couple together to increase the chance of fertilisation,” Pansy felt the blood rush from her face as she stared into Ron’s blue eyes. He lowered his gaze now, looking away sadly. Pansy wondered for a brief moment whether he knew about the pregnancy and what she’d done, without allowing him to offer his opinion. Not that her decision would have been any different. 

“Still angry, I pulled you apart? I mean God’s forbid you get pregnant… especially with a werewolf’s pups.” He turned around, pinching the bridge of his nose. “All I need is for you tell me what you know about what happened to him. No one’s seen Longbottom since the battle, and then suddenly I find that he’s a bloody werewolf and that he’s fucking you all over the kitchen. He needs to be taken to a reserve where we can keep an eye on him and make sure he doesn’t hurt anyone else,”

“Else? Who has he hurt?” He checked his notes needlessly. She knew he knew it all already and was just doing it to stall. 

“Well, I heard his Gran was admitted into hospital yesterday, and there’s evidence of an attack in the house, blood all over the walls, looks like someone tried to clean up after themselves.”

“So what are you charging him with?” 

“Nothing yet! But believe me, I would love to do nothing more than to throw the book at him right now!” 

“You’ve got no proof that he’s a Werewolf, or that he attacked Augusta for that matter. I diagnosed her myself, there was not a mark on her. It looks like she had a stroke and fell,” Pansy argued, feeling incensed at the suggestion that Neville could have hurt anyone. He was so paranoid of doing just that, he locked himself up in that larder.

“I don’t need proof, I just need to wait four days, and he’ll change. But regardless, I only need reasonable suspicion on the facts. Fact is, as a “suspected Werewolf” and with the evidence I have, he’s got no rights, and I have a duty to put him where he can’t hurt anyone else. So don’t worry, you won’t be seeing him any time soon. 

“Ronald?” She said, raising up to her full height for the first time as she felt the fear of his actions rush her system. “What are you going to do to him?”

“My job, Pans. At least one of us needs to show some professionalism. You can thank me later,” He said as he collected his papers and placing her wand on the table. 

“Ron,” She said standing, gripping the cloak around her to cover her self. “Please, he was your friend,”

“Go home, Miss Proctor. I have no further questions at this time,” He gave her one last lingering bloodshot look before leaving her alone in the silence. 

“Staying will only make him angrier, and then there's no telling what he’ll do. Go home and regroup,” The mirror whispered to her as she faced the door. Pansy nodded, feeling the first sting of tears in her eyes.


	21. Advisor to the Minister for Magic

She barely noticed the threadbare sofa as her mind darted from thought to thought as she tried to employ the logic she had relied on for most of her life. What was her next move? Where did she go from here? What was the outcome she wanted and what was she willing to do to get it? Unable to focus on any single thread, her knee bounced away rhythmically as if to distract herself from the panic threatening to rise up and consume her. 

What did Ron mean? What was he going to do? Surely house camaraderie and unity counted for something. They had been dorm mates after all… Her head buzzed with more questions than answers. A surge of anxiety filled her like a nebulous cloud forcing her up to breathe. “I have a duty to put him where he can’t hurt anyone else,” He wouldn’t section him, would He? 

The thought was utterly repugnant as she stomped the same pattern into her worn floor. Ice rushed down her spine at the thought of him trapped in a cell with no hope of release. Her heart pounded in her ears as the terror in her chest began to sing like crystal about to smash. A high pitched ringing that she couldn’t seem to stop regardless of what she did. 

There didn’t seem to be the words to describe how she felt, but the word ‘mine’ bounced around her mind. She shook her head, ignoring the gnawing feeling in her gut at the idea as the possibility of never seeing him again made her feel sick. 

She pulled at her hair in desperation as she tried to remain grounded. She recognised when she was out of her depth, and this was definitely one of those times. She hated to admit, but she needed help. Taking a deep breath, she tuned her mind into the logical part that had helped her so many times before. Who could help? Who would help? And what was she willing to risk? Who would she be willing to confess Neville's secret to? The last left the list shorter than she had hoped for. 

Starting with most helpful, there was of course Draco. He was certainly trustworthy, there was no doubt about that, and he would be willing, but she didn’t know how. He held no political power or sway, and if anything, being a Malfoy, it was probably a disadvantage to the cause. Blaise was an auror in his own right but had no jurisdiction in Britain and would take too long to get here. He was probably too busy, anyway. Theo? Just no. he wouldn’t have a clue where to start. Millie? Again, she wouldn’t be any help, not in this… What about outside her circle of friends? 

Obviously, Harry Potter was the first one to come to mind, He had the political sway and power and was friends with Neville, or at least he had been before. Pansy didn’t know how to get in contact with him, for such a public figure, he covered his tracks very well. 

Ron was obviously out, and he would have been the first person she would have gone too if things had been different. Obviously, that bridge had been truly burned beyond repair. She shuddered as she remembered the look of fury in his eyes as he had ripped them apart. She felt a new rush of fear at the thought of what he could do to Neville. 

That left Hermione Granger. She screwed up her nose in distaste. The idea of seeing the snooty know-it-all didn’t fill her with confidence. They had never seen eye to eye and Pansy wasn’t sure that it was likely to change any time soon. Granger was more likely to transfigure her into a quill or inkwell as soon as look at her before she could utter Neville’s name. Granger wouldn’t spit on her if she were on fire, she was sure of it. 

“Don’t worry, you won’t be seeing him any time soon.” Ron’s words echoed in her mind again and spurred her towards the fireplace. She stopped her hand inches from grabbing the floo powder from its pot on the mantle. She was still only wearing her scrubs top and a disillusionment charm on her bottom half. She blushed furiously at her carelessness. 

There was no way she could or should leave the house like that. She certainly wasn’t willing, after fifteen hours of being sat in the cold, stared at like a whore and being naked from the waist down made her skin tingle and itch. 

No, there was no way she could go back there so soon in anything that exposed even an inch of flesh to anyone. She rushed to the bathroom, desperate to get the feeling of the Aurors eyes and hands off her. She didn’t even bother washing her hair before slipping on the first thing that she found in her wardrobe. 

The thick cotton tracksuit bottoms were usually reserved for cosy Sundays off or when she was bloated and in need of comfort. They were soft and warm against her skin, making her feel slightly safer already. She had never intended this spur-of-the-moment muggle purchase to ever bee seen outside the safety of her flat. Still, as she grabbed the matching hooded sweatshirt top, she couldn’t think of anything else better. 

~~~

The next thing she knew, she was in the Atrium of the Ministry for the second time that day, moving considerably faster and certainly better dressed. She rushed across the open foyer, almost breaking into a run in her unusually flat shoes, hoping that no one spotted her as she barged into the closing lift. 

“Level one,” She muttered as she grabbed one of the straps, ignoring the looks from the other occupants as they began to descend like a shark cage into murky and uncertain waters.   
It was lunchtime, and the Lift was crowded as people were taking advantage of the break to get lunch or hand over files. In all her haste, she still hadn’t eaten, but that could wait until later, she thought as she ignored the sick gnawing in the stomach -both her anxiety and hunger seeming to feed off each other as she got closer to the witches office. 

A large wizard in a musty old robe, bumped against her several times as the cage descended into the depths of London. She didn’t have the energy to spare him a glare as she chewed on her lip, eager to get to Granger. By the time to lift had moved all the way to the bottom floor, it was virtually empty, making her bolt towards the doors easier. The lift had bearly landed as she forced herself through the slowly-opening grate. 

She paused as she looked around, she had never been to this floor before. She had never had the need to visit the Advisor to the Minister of magic before. The plush purple carpet ran off in all directions from a single front desk. The floor was smaller than the rest as it was just a large lobby surrounded by offices. 

“Hello there, Can I help you?” A woman asked from the mahogany desk in the corner. Pansy prickled slightly as the ageing woman gave her the once over, her top lip twitching in disgust for a moment before he superior air returned. The witch was the wrong side of fifty with greying hair and wrinkling skin that no amount of makeup could hide. 

“I’m here to see Hermione Granger, It’s urgent.” She panted, hating the slight whine in her voice. 

“I’m sorry, Ms Granger is currently in a meeting. You’ll have to come back later.”

“I can’t come back later, later could be too late, please. It’s important, and Ms Granger would want to know about it.”

“As I said, I’m sorry, but she is currently unavailable.” The receptionist said unhelpfully, a twitch of a smile appearing at the corner of her mouth. Pansy’s eyes narrowed. She knew a bitch when she saw one, and she was not above giving as good as she got. 

“Thank you for your assistance. Is her office this way?” Pansy asked without waiting for an answer as she headed towards the first office. She wondered whether she would have to open each door individually, but the golden nameplates glinted helpfully. 

“Stop, Come back! I’ll call security,”

“Have fun with that,” She muttered as she rushed the line of offices to find Grangers. 

When she arrived at the large Mahogany door with her nameplate on, she almost cried in relief. She pressed the handle and burst in, knocking would give the witch chance to curse her. 

She stopped in the doorway as the sight before her confused and stunned her. she recognised the shapes, but the order of them made no sense. 

“Draco? Granger?” She asked as someone grabbed her from behind and attempted to pull her back out of the room again.


	22. Veritaserum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit heavier... please don't hate me

Cold, hard concrete touched his skin, leeching the heat from his naked body as he lay huddled into a ball. The fresh cuts and bruises already throbbing against the cold. He felt another stinging hex against his back as the two Aurors sniggered and muttered. 

“What’s wrong, Wolfy? Shagged out?” She laughed, and he closed his eyes, unable to gather the energy to respond. His thoughts strayed to Pansy, and he wondered whether she was alright. He tried to hold onto the memory of her, surrounded in her cherry scent as he plunged into her centre. For those moments, he had been in heaven, a brief break in the storm clouds that had been his last four years. 

She looked at him like a person, let him touch her skin without flinching. He could smell her on his flesh and knew that she was his. He would never be able to get the scent out of his mind. Another stinging hex brought tears to his eyes as the surface of his thigh blisters in a slash of heat. He hissed against the sudden pain of it. 

“I thought you said werewolves were hostile,” Said one of the younger Aurors “This one is like a kicked puppy,”

“He is now, but any closer to the full moon and he’ll eat off your face,” the older auror replied, “Never turn your back on one, especially the Alphas, the Betas aren’t anywhere near as hostile.”

“Still dangerous, though, right?”

“Of course. Seriously Tanner, what do they teach you lot in basic training these days?” The older Auror remarked with a tut. 

“So is this one an Alpha or a Beta?” Tanner asked, stepping closer to the cage. 

Neville listened intently, in the last four years he hadn’t tried to learn more about werewolves. He had just resigned himself to the suffering of it all. He didn’t know there were different types, or how they were different.

“Boss says he’s an Alpha,” The older man grunted. 

“How can he tell,” Tanner asked. There was a pause before another stinging hex streaked across his shoulders, forcing a groan to escape from between his teeth. 

“When he forced himself on that woman, something about his… anatomy, is different from a Betas” Neville felt the growl start in the back of his throat at the thought that Pansy was anything but a willing participant in the exchange. 

“You what?” The younger asked incredulously, before snorting with laughter. “So what? They get stuck?”

“Apparently so,” It was clear the older man was uncomfortable with the whole situation as the silence passed. 

“Filthy pervert!” The younger man muttered as another curse hit his stomach. The younger auror had moved around his cage to look at him. Neville looked up at him before closing his eyes again. The boy was young, looking fresh out of Hogwarts with his spotty skin and too big robes.

“That’s enough, Tanner!” A voice pierced the air and Neville opened his eyes to stare at the voice. He hoped that the sight of his former dorm mate would mean a reprieve, but the look on his face didn’t inspire confidence. 

“But sir, he’s a werewolf,”

“I don’t hold stock with that talk, and you know it. This is Neville Longbottom, He killed the snake at the battle of Hogwarts. Regardless of what he is, you owe him at least a little respect!” Ron chided before looking back at the forms in his hands. “Now get out. Both of you!”

Nevile watched as their feet disappeared through the far door, closing it behind them. He stayed quiet as he waited for Ron to speak. But nothing was said, he only paced around the cage. Neville closed his eyes against, pretending that he could disappear into the stone floor.

“I don’t even know where to begin.” Ron started dangerously quiet. Neville remained quiet. “You disappear from the battleground without so much as a goodbye. You ignore every one of your friends, no letters, no notes, nothing. We thought you had died or something, except there was no funeral held. The next thing I hear is that your grandmother has been attacked and put in the hospital and that you force yourself onto a former classmate, What in merlins name happened to you?” Neville felt the tears catch in his eyes but shook his head. 

“I didn’t, I never,” He said. Ron slid down the wall to sit facing him. His eyes intent and narrowed on him. 

“What? Didn’t disappear? Didn’t disown your friends? Or didn’t attack your gran? Cause I have it on good authority, you certainly forced yourself on Miss Parkinson. 

“It’s Proctor,” Neville corrected. It seemed small and petty, but she had changed her name for a reason.

“What?” Ron snapped. 

“She changed her name to Proctor,” He looked up at Ron’s face and saw the hesitation there. 

“Shut up, Nev. This is serious business!” He snapped dismissively. “You’re in deep shit! You’re a suspected werewolf, and because of that, you have no rights. You attacked a pureblood woman and raped another. If I were to put you in front of any court, they would immediately lock you up and throw away the key. Now, I can either frogmarch you naked, down to St Mungo’s so that they can run their tests to confirm what we both know, or you can make it easy for the both of us and tell me what happened.”

“What do you mean? Happened when?” Neville asked in confusion. 

“All of it, Who changed you? We’ll start there.” 

Neville sat up, pressing his chilled skin against the far bars of the cage. He shook his head desperately. He couldn’t discuss that. He promised himself he would never talk of it. 

“As I said you have no rights, If I wanted to use the cruciatus curse in here, I could do it, Nev.” Ron said, “Or the Imperio curse or I could just force-feed you veritaserum.” He shook his head. 

“Ron, please. I didn’t…”

“What? Rape my girlfriend? Save it!” Neville swallowed as he saw the anger hiding just under the surface of his face. 

“Girlfriend?” Neville felt the world shatter around him like glass. “No, she’s not!” it sounded weak even to his ears. 

“She is, We were happy until she lost our…” He stopped and cleared his throat. “Tell me what happened Neville, or so help me, Salazar! I will force-feed you veritaserum and make you tell every secret you’ve ever kept quiet.”

Neville felt his heart thump against his chest in a bid to escape. “Who knew you were bitten?”

When Neville didn’t reply, Ron rummaged in his pocket, drawing his attention. He pulled out a small vial of clear liquid and shook it slightly. Making it glint in the dim light. “Last chance to answer me, Nev,” He warned. 

Neville thought of his gran who had protected him from everything, and Pansy who had gone out of her way to look after him. He thought of Pansy and clung to the feeling that what they had meant something. If he didn’t, he might go mad. She would’ve said something, he was sure of it. 

“Times up,” Ron lifted his arm, pulling his wand from its holster. The cork lifted out of the bottle as three drops floated up and into the air. Neville covered his mouth with his hands, but he knew that if Ron wanted to make his swallow that potion, there was nothing he could do to stop it. 

With a flick of Ron’s wrist, his whole body became rigid as a body bind curse was cast. His arms clamped to his sides and away from his mouth, leaving him exposed. 

Ron stood up, the three drops of veritaserum floating midair next to him. “Now, open wide.” He said as his mouth was forced open and the drops landed cooly onto his tongue. Tears escaped from the corners of his eyes as the liquid dribbled down his throat. 

“Neville Longbottom. Who turned you into a werewolf?” Ron asked as he lifted the body bind from his aching muscles. He clenched every muscle together to keep from answering the question. Still, the potion loosened everything, and he knew it would feel so good to let the words just tumble out. Years of hatred and guilt just yearning to get out. He grit his teeth so hard his jaw ached with the tension, but eventually, the potion won out. 

“Lavender Brown,” He muttered through the clamped teeth.

“And what happened to her after that?”

“I killed her…”


	23. Immobulus

“Draco?” She asked as hands gripped her shoulders. “Get off me! I need to speak with Miss Granger.” She said as she shrugged out of their grip. 

“Pans, what…?” Draco said from the desk as he released Granger from between his legs, rushing to do up the buttons of his shirt. The Gryffindor glared at her unkindly as she smoothed her skirt and stepped away from Draco. Her dark skin gleamed in the light of the office as she turned her eyes down to the papers on her desk. 

“Kathy? Please can you remove Ms Proctor from my office?” She said with stern indignation as she pushed her thick dark curls away from her face. 

“Granger please, I need to speak to you, urgently!” Pansy tried to plead as she fought off the witches advances. She didn’t want to mention Neville’s name, not in front of the witch trying to grip her. 

“Now please, Kathy!” The Gryffindor demanded as she moved behind her desk. This whole meeting was going about as well as Pansy had been expecting. The annoyance and discomfort was clear in her body language as she pretended to look through the documents she had picked up. 

“Hermione, wait,” Draco said, his eyes looking her over with obvious worry. He stood rose with liquid grace before turning to the dark-skinned witch. “Can’t we hear her out?” He waved a hand at her as Kathy pulled her out of the room, her fingers biting into her flesh even through her sweatshirt. She struggled to think as the couple disappeared out of sight as she was hauled out of the doorway. 

“No, Draco!” Hermione said in a tone that brooked no argument. Pansy felt the desperation rise in her as the Kathy, the receptionist, pulled her into the lobby where a large security guard waited for them. Pansy dug her heels in at the sight of him, thoughts of being dragged back to the Auror’s office too fresh in her mind. 

“Granger!” She cried again “Draco, please!” The security guard wrapped his thick sausage fingers around her upper arm as he dragged her out of the grip of the witch. There was no fighting him, and she was loathed to pull out her wand. She was unpopular as it was and pulling a wand was tantamount to starting a wand fight. She looked around a final time as she tried to think of anything else to say, but her mind failed her. She gripped onto the gate, her knuckles turning white as she tried to remain on the floor. “It’s about Longbottom! He’s in trouble!” Pansy screamed in desperation as the large guard wrapped his meaty arm around her waist, pulling her into the lift, almost breaking her fingers as they slipped from the metal. “Draco please,” She screamed again as the gates shut and the cage began to rise. 

She closed her eyes as the fight left her, and the floor began to disappear from view. The tears started as she sagged against the security guard. 

“Immobulus!” someone cried, and the lift halted in its ascent. She opened her eyes as she saw Draco and Hermione standing at the gate, the Witch with her wand raised. 

She let out a sob of relief as the lift began to lower again and the gat opened. Draco surged forward and gathered her up in his arms as he guided them back to Hermione’s office. 

“Kathy, please cancel all my appointments for today.” She said unhappily from behind them

“Yes, madam.” Came the receptionists reply. 

Draco guided her to one of the soft chairs in the office before lowering her down into one of them. 

“What in Salazar’s name are you wearing, my heartsease?” He cooed softly making her laugh despite her tears. She was about to talk when the office door slammed. They both jumped and looked up at the cross witch glaring down at them. 

“You have five minutes to appeal to my better nature, Parkin-Proctor” She corrected herself. “start talking,”

“It’s Neville. He’s in trouble. Ron’s up to something I know it!” 

Silence hung in the room like a bad smell before Hermione started to open the door again. Her lips tight like she was chewing a wasp. 

“Please, hear me out, you gave me five minutes!” Pansy pleaded as she pushed the tears away from her face with her sleeves. 

“Fine,” Hermione agreed haughtily before moving to sit at the chair behind her desk. 

“I’m training to be a healer,” She started, and Hermione nodded. Obviously, Draco had talked about her. “Well, I got a call from the company I have a placement with, Ichabod and Chorley. It’s usually just check-ups, sick children or elderly people. People too sick or rich to go to St mungos.” She sniffed. “I was called to the Longbottoms house, and at first I thought I was there for Neville’s gran, but as I was led through, It became clear it was for Neville. He had a severe case of Aconite poisoning, and his heart stopped.” 

A share intake of breath drew her eye as Hermione sat there, her face keen with curiosity as she waited for more information. “I stayed over the night to keep an eye on him and got talking to his gran who said the potions she was ordering from Knockturn alley didn’t seem to work as well as they had before like they had been watered down, so Neville had decided to make his own...” Hermione groaned, and Draco fidgeted. Neville’s potion-making skills were clearly well known. Pansy tugged and twisted the sleeve of her sweatshirt as she recalled what had happened. 

“Is this why you asked me what I could do it for?” Draco asked, rubbing her arm. She nodded. 

“Augusta has clearly been selling anything of value to fund the potion since the battle, as furniture and ornaments were missing.” She paused, wondering what to say about the morning he woke up. She remembered him licking her neck and took a deep breath. 

“Augusta went to bed, and while I was checking him over, he had another fit. I managed to stabilise him. When he woke up, he got… cuddly.” She blushed and closed her eyes.

“Cuddly?” Draco asked, raising his eyebrow in disbelief. Pansy shot him a glare before looking back at her sorry-looking fingernails.

“Anyway, I left them that morning, intending to come back and watch over him again on the night of the full moon. I saw Draco and made some enquiries about Wolfsbane and prices, and went to see Ron about the watering down of the wolfsbane. When I went back, Neville had told his gran about who I was, and other things and she fired me.”

“And this was last month?” Pansy nodded. “Why have you waited this long?”

“I was at work on the wards when Augusta was brought in. Suspected stroke and a bad fall down the stairs, nothing to do wit Neville from what I could tell. I went by after work to see if he was alright. He had trashed the place and hurt himself doing so. I cleaned him up, and we talked. Things happened…” She blushed with a vengeance now, remembering the blazing heat and connection between them, and of course the pounding pleasure. “Ron and some Aurors broke in and broke us up and arrested us. That was yesterday evening. I only got out about an hour ago. Ron said that he’s going to put Neville away.” 

“Things? And On what charges?” Hermione asked, 

“Fully consensual things,” She said tactfully. “Ron said that he’d heard about Augusta and when they broke in, they found evidence of an attack, what with the blood on walls and evidence to show that he tried to clean it up. He said he didn’t need proof and as Neville is a suspected Werewolf, he would have no rights. He said he was going to put him where he can’t hurt anyone else. And that I wouldn’t see him again.” She felt the tears start up and couldn’t seem to stop them. 

The silence hung in the room again as Hermione watched her. 

“He’s going to section him, and he’s never going to get out, all because he didn’t register himself. You know Neville. He wouldn’t hurt a fly. He’s been living in a larder next to the kitchen since the battle so he can be locked in over the full moon. According to Augusta, he stays in there all the time, He’s lost so much weight that you almost wouldn’t recognise him. We need to help him, and I can’t do it alone.”

Hermione sat for a moment as her mind whirled he eyes darting from side to side as if she were looking through a book of answers in her mind. As if a stroke of brilliant hit her, she reached for her quill and sketched out a quick note before tapping it with her wand. It turned into a folded paper aeroplane before flying up and off through a narrow slit in the top of the door. 

Pansy felt Draco’s hand on her arms squeeze slightly, and she closed her eyes, feeling like she was back as St mungo’s waiting to be seen by the healer. She shuddered. 

“Do you want a drink while we wait for the interview notes?” Hermione asked, her voice sounding kinder than it had. Pansy looked up and after a moment nodded. 

“Coffee, please,” She asked. Hermione nodded as she rang a small bell on the floor. Within moments a lady with a tea tray stepped in.


	24. And then... Nothing

Ron’s laugh filled the air as Neville pushed the tears from his eyes. He watched the man he thought he had known from school with a newfound terror as he paced around the bars of his cage. 

“You? Killed Lavender?” He laughed again, “Neville. I mean, I know you took the snake out- which was awesome, obviously. But we’re talking a teenage girl who you were probably too afraid to talk to.” 

Neville remained silent, the guilt and fear warring inside him for supremacy. “So, how did you do it?” Ron asked, finally, something he felt compelled to answer. He fought it but knew he would fail. 

“Shot her, with a stunning spell.” Ron was silent for a moment and then started to laugh again. 

“A stunning spell?” He shook his head, his beaming smile so similar to the smile from their earlier days. “Tell me what happened. I need to know.” He said, sitting on the floor, facing him eagerly. 

“I was looking through the bodies, trying to look for survivors when I found Lavender. It looked like she was still breathing. I leant over to check, and she pounced and attacked me.” Neville blurted, tears heating his frozen cheeks as he relived the horror of that day. “She almost killed me, bit right through and nicked my heart. I managed to get her off using a stunner, but it sent her flying, and she smacked her head into one of the broken edges of the wall. Her blood was everywhere.” He finished as he started to shake. The images came thick and fast, he remembered losing consciousness as his chest felt wet—the burning sensation in his veins as he faded from the world. 

“Plausible,” Ron nodded with interest. “I guess I could say that was self-defence, What about the attack on Hannah Abbott?” He asked. Neville frown as he trembled, the memories of his sins laid bare. 

“What attack? I haven’t seen Abbott since school,” he shook his head. Ron smirked, his easy grin becoming something that Neville loathed. 

“I have, and she’s a very eager girl, a bit clingy but always up for a laugh. After a bit of coaxing, she suddenly seemed to remember seeing you at the leaky a few weeks ago where you molested her.” Ron smirked. “It’s amazing what people will say for the right reasons, and people will be more than willing to believe her over you, you being a werewolf and all.”

Neville closed his eyes, feeling resigned to the fact he was going to Azkaban. It felt strange, it was almost a relief that he would be going there, away from anyone that he could hurt. His gran could live her life again without having to worry about finding the money for the wolfsbane any more. 

“So, who knows you’re a werewolf?” His eyes clenched together as he tried to hold his tongue. Not willing to get others in trouble. He had heard stories of people being able to fight the effects of veritaserum or to answer truthfully around the solution. He didn’t think he was clever enough for the latter but the former he could do. For Pansy and his family, he could hold his tongue. He clenched his tongue between his teeth as he tried to recite the glossary of one thousand magical herbs and fungi. 

‘Dittany is a powerful healing herb’ he recited as he fought the overwhelming urge to spill everything. 

“Who knows you’re a werewolf, Nev?” Ron asked again. 

‘Dittany may be eaten raw to cure shallow wounds. Flobberworm Mucus is a popular potion thickener.’ He continued to chant as he tried to visualise the words in his now dog-eared book. ‘Aconite is sometimes called Monkhood or Wolfsbane.’ 

“Neville, you will tell me!” Ron promised, standing again. Neville could hear his footsteps rounding the cage. 

‘Moly is a powerful plant that can be eaten to counteract enchantments. It is a black-stemmed plant with white flowers.’ He thought of the moly he had growing in his greenhouse at home as his thoughts returned to his Gran. His lips started to open, but he bit down, tasting blood as he returned to his chant. 

‘The cry of the mandrake is fatal to anyone who hears it,’ Neville continued, hearing Ron sigh in resignation. 

“All right then, Nev. You’ve beaten the serum. I didn’t want to resort to this, but you’ve left me no choice.” Neville opened his eyes in time to see his former friend pointing his wand at him. He knew what was coming even if he didn’t want to believe it. 

The pain was immediate and excruciating. The taste of blood increased in his mouth as his jaw clenched against the agony. His blood felt cold enough that it was burning him like acid from the inside all the while every internal organ wanted to exit through his bellybutton. He couldn’t breathe against the pain, meaning dark spots appeared in his vision as he suffocated in the anguish. 

Sweet relief came as the pain subsided, all except the pain in his mouth. As he dribbled blood onto the floor, his tongue almost bitten through. 

“I didn’t want to, Neville, not after what it did to your parents, but you left me no choice. Who know’s you’re a werewolf?” He asked again. 

Neville cried as he tried to hold onto the names. Muttering his chants as he did so. 

“The cry of the Mandrake is Gran to anyone who Pansy’s it.” 

“Your Gran and Pansy? Was that?” Ron asked smugly. 

“The wiggentree is a magical Pansy that will protect anyone touching it’s Gran.” He murmured feebly against the will to spill everything. 

“Oh dear, I ought to haul Augusta down here, not sure she’d survive the journey though, I hear your attack really did a number on the old bird.” 

Neville sobbed into the concrete, panic building in his chest as failure pressed him into the floor. He had failed them, he had confessed. What kind of lion was he? 

“Please, Lock me away and chuck the key,” he begged, “Leave them alone,”

“Nev, you don’t get a say. They broke the law. In fact, If your Gran survives her injuries after she comes out of Azkaban, The dementors may have driven her potty… Potty enough to forget she ever had a grandson…” He chuckled cruelly. Neville had never seen this side to Ron before. There was something primal in how he was reacting. He frowned in confusion as something crossed his mind. He looked up at the other man, who’s blue eyes flashed down at him. 

He sniffed the air, he could smell Pansy everywhere as well as the other Aurors that had been in his cell before. But there was something else, subtle that he hadn’t noticed before. 

“You?” He accused, his tongue throbbing as he tried to talk again. 

“Me what?” Ron asked, the laughter fading from his face. Neville thought he saw fear there as he pulled himself up by the bars. 

“I recognise you,” He said, sniffing the air again. Ron backed up with a shake of his head. 

“I don’t know what you mean!” He protested. 

“You, you’re a werewolf too!” 

“Don’t be ridiculous!” he snorted, but his eyes were wide. 

“A beta, aren’t you? No wonder I didn’t notice before, your scent is too subtle.”

“Shut up!” Ron demanded.

“If you do anything to Pansy or anyone in my family, I will tell everyone.” 

“I could just kill you,” Ron said with a shrug. Neville opened his mouth to argue as a flash of light erupted from Ron’s wand. Then… nothing.


	25. Longbottom House

Pansy stared at the black liquid in her cup as the steam rolled and swirled on the surface. She held the porcelain until the heat seeped through, burning her fingers. The silence between them all seemed to hover thickly as they waited. They had tried small talk, but after the bombshell of Neville being a Werewolf and Ron trying to lock him away, there didn’t seem to be much left to say that didn’t sound ridiculous and fake. 

They listened to the clock as it ticked by the seconds. “The case files don’t usually take this long,” Hermione said finally with a frown as she rose from her desk and stepped out of the office, “Excuse me,” she muttered, closing the door with a soft click behind her. 

“So… Longbottom?” Draco muttered quietly, offering a small, teasing smile. 

“So… Granger?” Pansy retorted before turning to meet his eyes. They smirked at each other before bumping their shoulders together affectionately. Having him close made her feel almost hopeful they would be able to do something. She blew out a breath in a whoosh as she tried to soothe the rising anxiety in her chest. 

“I can’t believe Longbottom is a werewolf,” Draco shook his head in disbelief. “If you had told me that day in my shop, I would have taken you down to St Mungo’s to get checked out.”

“So would I, before. There some other things too, I’m not sure Granger needs to know about them, but the timing is suspect.” Pansy admitted before turning back to her coffee. “The threats started again,”

“What?” Draco exclaimed turning more fully towards her in his chair. “When? What did they say? Why didn’t you say anything?” His asked in a rush as his eyes bore into her head, daring her to look at him. 

“Two weeks ago. I couldn’t tell anyone because it mentioned Neville too. It warned that if I howled at the Moon with Longbottom again, they would show me what a real predator could do, and addressed it to miss Parkinson. I couldn’t go to the Aurors and hand Neville over.”

Draco nodded thoughtfully as he mulled over the information. “Have there been any more?”

“Not as far as I’m aware, but if any came yesterday or today I didn’t notice, I was in too much of a rush to get here.” She explained. “There’s one final thing, a new healer started in the Dai Llewellyn ward and seems to know me from when we were younger. I don’t like not knowing who he is.” 

“Tell me,” Draco said simply his eyes trained on hers as he waited for her to speak. 

“His name is Mitch Owens, he’s American. He talked about the pink dresses Mother used to make me wear. He mentioned something about all the secrets he knew too. I was alone on the roof at the time, so I ran, but does that seem weird to you?”

“It certainly does have a sinister air about it, especially at the moment with the threats. I’ll see if I can find out anything from Mother about any American purebloods.” He answered thoughtfully. He opened his mouth to say more when the door opened and Hermione pushed in, looking confused and thoughtful. She perched on the edge of her desk and crossed her arms, before looking at them both. 

“Is Neville safe?” Pansy asked eagerly, shifting forward on her chair. 

“I don’t know,” Hermione said slowly before chewing on her lip. 

“What do you mean?” Draco asked. 

“I mean as far as the Auror office are aware, Pansy and Neville have never stepped foot in the building.”

The silence spanned for three uneven heartbeats as Pansy felt the blood rush from her face. 

“We were, I was kept for hours. You’ve got to believe me!”

Hermione looked at her for a long time before nodding. “As much as I don’t want to, I do. You wouldn’t have come all the way down here to cause trouble, and certainly not dressed like that.” She added, shooting a pointed glance at Pansy’s tracksuit. Pansy scowled. She wanted to argue but knew it would do no good. 

“So, what does this mean? Could it be that he just hasn’t filed the report yet?” Draco asked frowning. 

“No, there would be booking in forms, interrogation transcripts, wand scans, everything. There should have been a trail of paperwork from the moment the Aurors stepped foot into Neville’s house, and I wasn’t able to call up any of it.” Hermione started to pace. “There should be a whole report full of evidence before an Auror sets foot in a property in an official capacity and I can’t locate any of it.”

“What does that mean? For Neville?” Pansy asked, feeling sick. 

“I don’t know. I think I’m going to call in a couple of favours and then I think we should go and check his house. Hopefully, he’s there.” Hermione muttered thoughtfully before rushing around to the other side of her desk to scribble a few more notes which, again turned into planes and shot off through the slot above the door. 

“Come on, we’ll use my floo.” The bushy-haired witch said as she ushered them all through to a fireplace which she hadn’t noticed before. Reaching for the pot of floopow, she threw it in and announced Longbottom House in a clear voice. She disappeared in a flash of green.

“Are you alright to go back there?” Draco asked. Pansy nodded. There was no threat there unless Ron was waiting for her to return. “Go on then, you next.” He insisted offering her the bowl of the black powder. She looked at it for a moment before looking at Draco’s stead grey gaze. 

“You believe me, don’t you?” She asked. She had to hear it from him. 

“Never had a doubt,” he confirmed with a nod. Pansy smiled as she took a handful of the powder and followed after Hermione. 

When she jumped out, she wanted to vomit as her stomach continued to spin. She moved away from the fire, leaving Draco enough room to jump out as she went to find Hermione. Bits of broken furniture remained on the floor where they hadn’t had the chance to tidy yet. She followed the trail into the kitchen where the remains of their dinner sat on the stove, the water of the spaghetti had turned into a milky mush, no including the churning feeling in her stomach. Hermione stood in the doorway of the room that Neville had called his room, and Pansy knew what she was looking at, the scratch marks in the plaster and the messy floor. The Gryffindor covered her mouth with her hand as she started to tear up. 

“I really hoped you were lying. I was hoping that he was here and that Ron hadn’t done something so unbelievably stupid.”

“That is what Ron does though, to be fair.” A voice said from behind them as the back door shut.

Harry stood in the kitchen, his face pale under his thick black beard as he looked around the room. “Malfoy is just checking out the greenhouse for some reason.” He shrugged “I got your note, Mione. What’s he done now? And why is she here?” He asked looking at Pansy now with his intense green gaze.

“Neville is in trouble and Pansy brought it to my attention.”

Harry watched her sceptically as he pulled out a chair and sat down. 

“And we’re sure she’s not lying?” He asked suspiciously. Pansy rolled her eyes. 

“Thank you for your vote of confidence, Scarhead! If you think I’m lying, answer me this, where are Augusta and Neville right now and why is the place such a mess?” She crossed her arms and waited for him to answer. He didn’t, he just turned his attention to Hermione who nodded. 

“What’s happened?”

“Let’s wait until Seamus gets here and then, If Pansy doesn’t mind, She can tell us all again what happened,”

She nodded as she turned to the counter where Neville had kissed her. She hugged herself closer as she worried at her lip. If Ron had done anything to him, she would hex his balls off and feed them to him through a straw.


	26. Grande Dame

They all stood in a pregnant silence in the small tatty kitchen as they waited, determined to avoid eye contact with her as a clock somewhere in the house ticked loudly, accentuating the painful passage of time. She turned and looked at the wall where she and Neville had been torn apart, losing herself in her memories. 

“How’s work?” Hermione asked, distantly from her position by the sink. 

“Yeah, it’s going really well. We got a couple of undetectable extension charms set up at Grimmauld place, and now we can house even more children. Kreacher seems to thrive on the attention,” Potter replied cheerfully. “What about you? How are the strains of being in government?” Hermione sighed. 

“Loretta Fieldwake is trying to bring in some new legislation for House Elves, and it’s utterly opprobrious!” She growled. 

“Oppro-what?” Harry asked, 

“Degrading,” Pansy replied without turning around. She rubbed at her temples as she tried to calm the throbbing that was beginning there. 

“Yes, it’s shameful, Harry. They-” The door opened, cutting Hermione off midsentence as they all turned to the back door. Draco stood there looking between them all blankly, before stepping in. A cold wind rushed in as he shut the door close behind him, causing them all to shiver. 

“Well?” Pansy asked, stepping forward. Had he been doing what she assumed he had? 

“I certainly can’t fault his herbological knowledge!” He replied as he rubbed his arms to warm himself, his dark coat shifting around his thighs. “If he did want me to make the potion for him in future, I’d be more than happy to use those ingredients. In fact, if we can sort this mess out, I’m actually very interested in the possibility of making him a supplier. I could source many of my other ingredients from here too.” Pansy smiled at him, feeling a slim glimmer of hope before the room descended back into silence. Draco moved over to Hermione, wrapping her in his arms. Pansy groaned inwardly before moving to the table, she was tired of standing any longer, despite it being closer to Potter than she desired. He could suck a Skrewt if he gave her any trouble. 

“So, what do you do these days?” Potter asked, turning in his chair to face her. 

“I’m training to be a healer at St Mungo’s,” She said quietly. 

“Really?” He asked, surprise raising his dark eyebrows towards his hairline. Her eyes looked for the scar, but his long hair hid the mark from view. 

“Why the surprise, Potter?” She asked acerbically, waiting for his response. She had never apologised for trying to hand him over during the war. However, she had stayed out of his way and had done everything she could to make amends. His dismissal of her and his insult of her integrity hurt her pride. “Believe it or not, people can change.”

“I know they can. I just never saw you as a particularly warm or nurturing person,”

“Potter!” Draco warned. Potter ignored him, his deep green eyes, all for Pansy. 

“I’m not,” She replied coldly. “If you’re ever lucky enough to fall into my clutches, I’ll even prove it to you,” She promised. 

“Sorry, there’s not much danger in my line of business these days,” He said, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “You may be waiting a while to prove yourself,”

“Sounds promising. Because once this unpleasant business is over with, I’m hoping our paths will never cross again,” 

“That depends, doesn’t it?” He replied. 

“On what?” 

“On whatever schemes you have that involve Neville. You have to know that none of us will willingly stand by and let you hurt him,” She stood up abruptly at this, staring down at him, the fury filling her eyes as the indignation widened them. 

“Willingly stand by?” She asked incredulously. “Stand by? And when, precisely, was the last time you visited him? Any of you?” She said, pointing between Harry and Hermione. “When did you stop by for a cup of tea or send him an owl? Don’t you preach your holier-than-thou bullshit to me, Scarhead! His so-called friends didn’t even know that he was here, infected, emaciated, malnourished and lonely. I’m only involved because he tried to kill himself, and I stayed because I care. So take your condescending, self-important arse back to the orphanage and fuck off judging me for having the audacity to care about him,” She stood up, the wooden chair screeching against the tiled floor as she moved to leave the room. She paused before turning. “He deserved better friends!” She shook her head and left, moving towards the living room before hunkering down out of sight against a wall.   
She wanted to cry in frustration and the unfairness of it all, but the tears wouldn’t come as the pain remained locked up, tight in her chest. She wondered what was going on with Neville right now? Where was he? Had Ron already had him sectioned? What was she going to tell Augusta? What if they never found him?”

Sounds of movement came from the hall behind her, and she gripped her wand. If it was Potter again, she was going to hex him into next week, golden boy or not.

Draco was the first to appear, followed by Hermione then Seamus and Harry. They looked around for her before noticing her crouched on the floor. Draco smiled grimly and offered her his hand. Once standing, all eyes were on her, and she felt as exposed as she had done in the Auror office earlier. 

“You alright, Proctor?” Seamus asked with a nod. She nodded back silently. Harry and Hermione held back, looking surprisingly sheepish. “So, what’s Neville done this time? What’s the crack?” Seamus asked, his Irish lilt making the sentence light and curious. 

“Pansy? Would you mind repeating what you told me earlier?” Hermione asked gently. Pansy heard the change in tone and wondered whether what she had said had struck a chord with them. Guilt, she knew, could be an incredible motivator. 

She started her tale again, explaining everything she knew and everything Ron had said while avoiding their eyes. She was tired and fed up, they should be out looking for Neville, not sitting around telling horror stories. 

“So, Why is Finnigan here? I thought he worked at St Mungo’s?” Draco asked once she was finished. 

“I used to be an auror, went through all the training with Ron, but it just wasn’t for me.”

“I thought he could be useful as he worked alongside Ron and knows how he thinks,” Hermione added. 

“About three years ago, there was a raid on a den of Were’s, reports claimed that they’d been terrorising the local muggle village. Ron got hurt, badly and was never the same afterwards,” Seamus perched on the edge of the armchair, still in his lime green scrubs. 

“I remember that,” Harry confirmed thoughtfully. “They thought he’d been mauled, but when the full moon came he didn’t shift,” Hermione nodded thoughtfully.

“He never told me that,” Pansy added quietly. 

“Yeah, that’s about the time he started… became more…” Harry paused, 

“Bed-hopping,” Hermione finished. 

“Loose” Harry said at the same time before nodding in agreement. 

“I lost track of how many women he took to bed, in fact, you were the only one that stayed longer than a night,” Potter muttered awkwardly, looking at Pansy. “And then when that stopped abruptly, he… went a bit odd.” Potter frowned with confusion as he tried to find the common thread between it all. 

“Yeah, he did, didn’t he?” Hermione nodded her eyes distant as though lost in thought. 

“He always appeared to be the same arrogant Gryffindor to me during our chess games,” Draco shrugged. “Although, he used to get very agitated sometimes, overreacting to small inconveniences, as though it was the end of days,”

“That’s all well and good, but I don’t see how Ron’s bed-hopping and mood swings can help us find Neville!” Pansy cried, frustration bubbling out of her. “He’s out there somewhere vulnerable and helpless.”

“I feel like it’s all connected but that we’re missing something,” Hermione said, leaning forward on the sofa. “Why would Ron come down on Neville so hard? They used to be friends,”

“Possible because of me?” Pansy hinted. 

“Probably but, how did Ron know to come here? He was never that bothered by werewolves before that raid.” Seamus commented. 

“If he was a werewolf, I’d almost say it was mating instincts,” Draco murmured absently. 

“What did you say?” Pansy asked sharply looking at him as if he had just shot a stinging hex at her. 

“Well, we know he got attacked by werewolves, and suddenly started to sleep around. We know… that you were together a while before you… split,” he said glancing meaningfully at Pansy, before looking away “And we know that he hasn’t seen anyone since.” 

“But he didn’t transform,” Seamus added, 

“Bill Weasley doesn’t change either,” Harry offered, “Also Teddy hasn’t yet, but Andi thinks if it manifests at all, it’ll be when he hits puberty,” 

“But why mating?” Hermione asked, turning to Draco. “Is there something you’re not telling us? It could be important.”

“Well, all the women for a start,” Draco said weakly, specifically not looking at Pansy. 

Pansy turned back to the fire, her insides trembling as though she were back in the waiting room at St Mungo’s with Draco, waiting to be seen by the healer. She took a deep breath. It was the last thing that she wanted people to know, her hard-won privacy being one of her most prized possessions. However, if her silence cost Neville his liberty, then she would tell the world. She steadied herself as she gripped onto the hearth to hold herself upright. Four pairs of eyes burning into her back expectantly as she spoke into the empty fireplace. 

“Ron got me pregnant,” she said, her voice surprising clear and loud. The silence behind her was complete as though everyone had suddenly apparated to the other side of the world. She could bearly even hear them breathing and felt sick as she waited for their judgement. “But I didn’t want to be a mother, I wanted to finish my training. The thought of being the next Mrs Weasley filled me with dread. It was never meant to be a relationship. So I went to the hospital and aborted the pregnancy. I broke up with him the next day. He never knew. At least I never told him,” her mind flitted to his words. “But I have a feeling that he knows,”

She turned back to the room, expecting to see anger or judgement from the three strangers in the room but was surprised as she looked at each of them in the face. Hermione looked sympathetic, Potter looked surprised, and Seamus looked unfazed and professional,” Something loosened inside of her. She had been so worried that people would attack her for her choice that this lack of aggression made her almost sag with relief. As though sensing this. Draco rose and pulled her down onto the sofa next to him. 

“Now, If Ron knew about the pregnancy and he was in the throws of mating, then that could explain his sudden change. It may have unhinged him,”

“But why did he keep her around longer than the others? She wasn’t pregnant from the start,” Harry asked. 

“Maybe it was for my winning personality,” Pansy bit back cattily. Harry shook his head, 

“That wasn’t what I meant!” He sighed. 

“I think you might be onto something there though, Malfoy,” Seamus said standing up as he began to pace. “I remember reading somewhere about the biology of werewolves. How some people can be carrier while other people change. Some people can be born too. There are different archetypes. Alphas, Betas and Omega’s” He said looking at Pansy carefully. “Have you have any Were’s in the family?” He asked, looking down at her as he stopped pacing for a moment. Pansy swallowed thickly and nodded. 

“My grandmother,”

“When was she infected?” Seamus asked, excitement at the discovery filling his round features.

“When I was a child.” His face fell. 

“Well, there goes my theory,”

“What theory?” Hermione asked. 

“If Pansy’s grandmother was infected before having her children, then pansy could have inherited some of the genes, making it possible to reproduce with Were’s.”

“Would…” Pansy closed her eyes as she felt her heartbeat thunder in her chest. “Would that still be possible if someone had been attacked?”

“I suppose it’s possible,” Seamus nodded thoughtfully. 

“Why?” Draco asked carefully, taking Pansy’s hand tightly.

“Because I was the reason she got sectioned,” She whispered, years of remorse and regret pouring out of her as she tried to keep the tears at bay. 

“But she died while on holiday,” Draco frowned. Pansy shook her head desperately. 

“She attacked me by accident and my family had her sectioned… It's all my fault!”


End file.
